Music bursts through the air, fast and playful. I can't resist the smile on my face, even if I want to. The Festival of Fallen Roses is always one of my favorite holidays, a way to commemorate my mother, show her I haven't forgotten her, and celebrate the many years we shared.

This year, my father has outdone himself. More food tables and display booths than ever before line the clearing and the sandstone patio steps. The fish pond, one of three freshwater pools contained by the stone, swarms with unfamiliar red and green fish. I'm certain the servants added them only a few days ago, as per the king's request. Every tree on the perimeter of the courtyard has colorful streamers hanging from their branches, even at the very top. I wish I could've helped with that task, but I know father would never let me.

A horse gallops through the trees, a garland around its neck and a yellow rose saddle on its back. This is another enhancement to the festival—for the first time, people can ride horses in between the rounds of the annual Fallen Roses Horse Race. Rounds one and two already took place, and the final round will begin later, ending the festival in a flurry of hooves and cheers. It's one of the most exciting events of the entire year.

Benno and Sigvard both made it into the championship, though Sewale lost in round one. I can't believe he was ever in the royal guard, even if it was only for a year.

I bite into another profiterole. Strawberry juice and aerated cream burst in my mouth from the filled, crackly pastry. Liquid dribbles down my chin, and I swipe it away with the back of my hand.

My gaze falls on the rose-covered back door as it slides open. Sigvard enters the courtyard along with several other citizens. That's another amendment father made—the entire Kingdom of Saursi may celebrate the festival at the palace as long as they have no criminal record. Prior, only elites were invited to the royal festivities.

"What's that?" Sigvard asks as he approaches, nodding to the remaining half of my pastry.

"Profiterole," I say, then shove the rest into my mouth. "Strawberry."

"Don't talk with your mouthful," Sigvard jokingly chides.

"Even if it's to tell you they have mousse truffles?"

Sigvard's eyes light up. "Pistachio?"

"Of course!"

"Point the way."

I raise the hem of my skirt to walk to the truffle table. My dress puffs around me like a red bubble embroidered with gold leaves, and a train follows me despite lifting the bottom.

We find Benno at the truffle station. Baskets mounded with round spheres of chocolate cover the wooden table.

"Hey, Benno," I say. He jolts around, then relaxes into a smile.

"Hey. Which one do you think I should try?"

Sigvard's hand darts out, and he snags one sprinkled with green dust.

"Pistachio," he says. I can hear the chocolate shell crackle as he bites into it.

"What's your vote, Aylo?"

I scan the treats. Under the sun's heat, tiny beads of moisture shimmer across the shiny surfaces. They probably shouldn't be left out too much longer, otherwise the crunchy exterior might melt, ruining the eating experience.

"Aylo?" Benno repeats.

"Depends on what you like," I say. "You can tell which variety it is based on what's sprinkled on top. There's the nut and seed varieties, fruit ones, and also plain ones for those who double down on chocolate."

"What do you like?"

I sigh. "It's so hard to choose. Maybe the toasted sesame, or the orange-cranberry, though the tart cherries have a nice balance of flavor, or the buttery hazelnut..."

"Perhaps I'll try the sesame." He lifts one topped with black and white sesame seeds. I pick truffle coated in blue powder. Blueberry jam oozes from the center, surrounded by fluffy cake and the rich chocolate casing.

"Delicious," Benno says. "You're right, it's hard to beat toasted sesame paste."

I grin. "This blueberry one is good, too. I don't think I've tried that combination before."

"There's a dessert you haven't tried?" Sigvard says sarcastically.

"There's lots I haven't tried." My eyes focus on another group of returning horses several yards ahead of us. "Like riding a horse in a ball gown."

"That sounds like a terrible idea."

I can recognize that nasally voice anywhere. Clemaina stops at my side, pink tulle billowing around her waist.

"Where's your arm candy?" Sigvard asks, grabbing another pistachio truffle.

Clemaina's jaw drops, thin eyebrows tightening indignantly. "And just what do you mean by that?"

"Where's Sewale?" I say.

Clemaina hesitates, then says, "He's looking at the booths."

"Are you sure about that?" Sigvard asks.

"Of course! Don't be so impetuous! And stop eating like a pig."

Sigvard reaches for a third truffle, probably just to spite her. Clemaina huffs, eyes grazing my attire.

"Aylo, that dress is so out of season. It's nowhere close to fall."

"I don't care. I think the red color and leaves with the rose theme, and my maids agree."

"You've already worn it too many times. You should give it a rest so no one recognizes it next fall."

"I've only worn it three times." Though commissioned for the Autumn Banquet last year, I also wore it around the New Year. "Besides, I think Mother would like it."

Clemaina's jaw tightens. "I thought you, of all people, would want to wear a simple dress so you can run around and jump on horses."

"You know as well as I do the clothing expectations for royal holidays. And who's saying I can't jump on a horse like this?"

"You can't ride a horse in that thing."

"Watch me."

Clemaina's eyes narrow. "You better not. You'll make a fool out of us all, especially father."

"Not if I ride the horse well."

Clemaina and I glare at each, the chatter around us fading in the background. I hadn't planned to go horseback riding today, but now I need to prove Clemaina wrong.

Benno clears his throat, breaking the lock on our gazes. "Let's calm this down, shall we?"

Clemaina straightens, bending her head down at me with a haughty pout. "Benno's right. Enough of this childishness." She stalks away, her voluminous skirt bobbing behind her.

"Are you really going to?" Sigvard asks, quieter than usual.

"Yes." I lift my dress and stalk to the horses. I don't need to look behind to know Benno and Sigvard follow.

I approach a servant holding the reins of a chestnut-colored horse. He smiles at me.

"What may I do for you, your highness?"

"I would like to ride a horse."

The smile drains from his face, and his blue eyes shift. "Oh, I'm not sure if—"

"It's perfectly fine for me to ride a horse," I state."

"But King Ivandor—"

"Shouldn't have an issue with me riding a horse today, the day of the festival."

"But your dress—"

"What about it?"

The servant sighs. "Let me ask my superior."

"You can ask me, the Princess of Saursi. And I say yes."

Sigvard and Benno sidle up beside me. The servant glances from me to them, then back to me.

"Alright," he murmurs. "But I'm not the one who gave you the horse."

A squeak of excitement escapes my lips. "I won't tell a soul!"

The servant gathers horses for my companions, and the four of us head into the woods. We stop once hidden behind a few trees.

"This is Biscuit, one of our mares," the servant says. "Do you know how to ride?"

"Of course!" I exclaim.

The servant holds up a hand. "Sorry, I didn't mean to offend."

I scan the horse for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to get atop the rose-petal saddle. I decide it's best to just go for it. My hand closes around the leather reins. I thread my foot into the leather stirrup, balancing on my right foot. With all my strength, I haul myself and the dress over the saddle. The horse shuffles beneath me from the plop of additional weight on its back. My dress covers her like a coat. I glance down at Sigvard, who stares at me with a smug grin.

"What's with the face?" I ask.

"Oh, nothing," he says. He mounts his own horse with a quick swing of his leg. When I look at Benno, already mounted, he's smiling too.

"What's going on?" I demand.

"Your highness, I think you should adjust your dress," the servant says. "It's right in the line of fire for horse droppings."

I twist around. The skirt falls right below Biscuit's tail. I bundle it up, tucking the edge under the saddle to hold it in place.

"Your dress is getting wrinkled," Sigvard states.

I flick the reins, and Biscuit trots away. "And you're getting slow."

We ride silently, snaking between tree trunks and ducking under branches. An earthy scent lingers in the breeze, cool from the shaded forests. It still cleanses my lungs, despite the rich, mineral aura. My hair sweeps behind my shoulders from the brisk forward movement. Time dissipates until it's just me riding through the never ending forest, relishing the air, the skittering of animals, and the twitters of birds.

"Aylo?" a panting voice says.

My trance shatters as I remember Sigvard and Benno. Biscuit trots past the trees, further from the voice. A branch appears in my line of vision, and I duck before it smacks my face. I pull on the reins, light at first, then more firmly. Biscuit loops around a tree and comes to a halt. Hooves thud on the forest floor, two figures rocketing toward me as they weave through the trunks. Benno reaches me first, followed by Sigvard. Both look winded.

"Are you riding your horses or are your horses riding you?" I say.

"You wandered off. We've been trying to catch up to you," Sigvard says.

"I couldn't have been going that fast."

"Well, it just kind of happened," Benno chimes in. "One moment you were with us, the next you were veering behind some trees, out of sight."

"Sorry," I say. "But does it really matter?"

"Of course it matters! We don't want to miss the championship," Sigvard says.

I completely forgot about it. "Jeez, sorry. Let's head back now."

Sigvard's head falls against a tree behind him. "Wait, let me rest." His hand ventures into the pocket of his red jacket.

"I don't get why you're so tired," I say. "Don't you have resistance training?"

Sigvard glares at me. "Just for that, I ought not give this to you."

"What?"

My brother sighs, removing an object wrapped in a white handkerchief from his pocket. He places it in my palm.

"Open it."

I pull at the twine surrounding it. The cloth falls to the ground, and a gasp leaves my slack jaw. It's the dagger from the marketplace. My fingers trace the vines on the handle as if to verify it's real.

"You bought it?" I say.

"Did I surprise you?" Sigvard grins. "After you left, presumably to find my present, Benno and I snuck back to the booth and bought it."

"Thank you!" I would hug him, but it's too much trouble to get off and remount my horse.

"I didn't want Father to see it, just in case. That's why I gave you Clemaina's ribbons."

"You stole ribbons from Clemaina?" I laugh. That's one of the funniest things I've ever heard.

"I didn't steal it," Sigvard corrects. "I actually gave those to her a while back. She hasn't worn them once. I was just... taking them back."

"How'd you get into her room?"

"Turns out that she barely visits her room these days, spending all her time on lessons, lunch-ins, or her lover's arm."

"That explains the monogram," I say. "I thought it stood for our last name, but I guess it stands for Clemaina."

"To think I spent extra for that." Sigvard shakes his head. "You can keep them, by the way. She won't notice they're gone."

"Speaking of noticing we're gone," Benno cuts in. "We should head back."

We start at a plodding pace through the woods. Gradually, our horses gain speed, perhaps as the reality of being late sunk in. Neither of the boys wants to give up that championship title, especially not Sigvard. Always up for a challenge, he leads the race through the woods, dodging trunks in rapid twists and turns with Benno at his heels. A gap forms between myself and the calvary trained boys. My riding lessons can't compete with theirs, one of many downsides to being a princess.

"Sigvard? Benno?"

Voices drift through the forest. Sunlight shines in the distance; I can see the palace courtyard. Between the trees, I make out King Ivandor, eyes searching the forest from the terraced steps. Sigvard and Benno slow their galloping horses just as they enter the clearing. I follow behind, yanking on the reins as Biscuit zooms toward the confectionary booths. She skids to a stop.

Perhaps I tugged too harshly, or Biscuit had too much forward momentum because she rears up. My grip on the reins loosens in surprise, and the weight of my dress severs my hold entirely. I plummet backward, landing on something that's somehow hard and squishy at the same time. Pain reverberates down my spine and into my limbs. My neck bends down as my head sinks against mush. My hands land in the same substance. Gasps swell around me, and I quickly realize why. I'm on a bakery table in the center of dozens of tiered cakes. Well, they were tiered a minute ago.

The throbbing in my bones ebbs, and the cakes squelch underneath me as I push myself to a seated position. Clemaina's horrified face is the first thing I spot. She looks like she'll drop the glass of punch in her gloves hands.

"What have you done!" she exclaims.

A giggle breaks out, rippling through the crowd. Shock turns to snickers, slack-jaws to grins. Heat stings my cheeks. I'm certain they're pink, and not from icing.

Wolfgang pushes through the crowd. "What is going on—"

The moment he spots me, he knows exactly what's going on. He exhales, as if willing strength for all the damage control he must do. Wordless, he offers me his hand—his white-gloved hand, no less—and helps me off the table. Grass tickles my bare feet, and I look under the table for my shoes. I spare one glance at the table, spattered with mashed cake and icing. My face burns with guilt.

"I'm sorry," I say to a man and woman inspecting the table. The woman offers a tight smile.

"It's alright, your highness. Accidents happen."

"You'd better clean up, Princess Aylo," Wolfgang states.

"What about the race?" I ask. "Did Sigvard and Benno make it in time?"

He nods slowly. "Just in time. Unfortunately, you'll have to miss it."

My heart deflates. I want to protest; the championship race is the highlight of the festival, the holiday's grand finale. By the time I wash up, the servants will be taking all the booths down. But there's no use arguing. I've already caused enough trouble.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☀. :☆ﾟ｡･ ───

There's no avoiding my maids later that afternoon. After I bathe, they dress me in a fresh ballgown. This equally fluffy gown is a deeper red than the former, verging on maroon. My maids brush my sweet-smelling hair into an updo and place a diamond comb in the center. Finished, I'm sent to my father's study. He asked to see me before dinner. Nerves twitch through my hands as I walk through the halls that are adorned with greenery and jewels. One more bend in the hallway, and I'm in front of his study's wooden door. I don't want to imagine the disappointment on my father's face waiting behind it.

My knuckles rap twice on the door. When I hear no reply, I try again.

Tap, tap.

"Come in," my father's voice booms.

I brace myself, turning the doorknob. My father sits at his desk in the center of the room. Bookshelves line the back wall and part of the sides, too. A mountain of papers pile on either side of him, framing the king as he works. He sets his fountain pen down next to a thick, leather-bound book, the surface shining in the last streaks of sunset.

"Please sit down, Aylo." His voice is soft, warm as the sun peeking through the curtains behind him. I slide into the chair in front of the desk.

"Father, I'm so sorry," I begin. A lump swells in my throat, and I try to gulp past it. "I never meant to... I wasn't trying to..."

"Ruin the festival?"

I bite my lip to keep it from trembling, blink steadily against the tears collecting in my eyes. Father's head tilts to the side, and for a moment, I think the blue of his irises might turn to liquid, too.

"Oh, Aylo. You didn't ruin the festival. Maybe the cakes we planned to serve after the race, but not the festival itself. If anything, you made this Festival of Fallen Roses one we'll never forget. And isn't that what this day is about—never forgetting?"

His eyes turn glassy, sucked into memories. A beat of silence pulses through the room... two, three, four.

"You remind me of her," he says at last. "In an odd sort of way."

I swallow. "My mother?"

He pauses, then breathes, "No. I'm not talking about Queen Dianne. I'm talking about Queen Xenia."

I inhale a breath. Queen Xenia was King Ivandor's first wife before he married my mother. She died of heart failure seven years prior, as did my own father. King Ivandor remarried only to secure an alliance at first, but a true romance seemed to blossom between him and my mother. That is, until she was killed.

Father grapples for words. "I don't know what Xenia was like as a child, but she had this light that filled the castle. She loved this festival as much as I do now. She set up games and took part in all of them. The joy pouring from her never ceased."

I know little about Queen Xenia, but I do know that the people loved her. They probably still do. Because of that, they loved Odeia.

Odeia's despised now. Despised and dead.

My father's eyes click in line with mine, a smile edging his lips. "Odeia was so different from her, reserved, stately, philosophical. They got along like honey and butter." Intensity suddenly lights on his face. "Don't think that I didn't love your mother. I still love her. She wasn't Queen Xenia, but Queen Xenia was nothing like Queen Dianne. They supported me at different stages in my rule, my life. I remember, love, and celebrate them both equally. But today reminded me of Xenia. She delighted in the little things, like being dragged off a horse by a giant ball gown, right into a table of cakes."

A smile cracks my lips. "I guess it was pretty entertaining."

"It was, at least from my angle, safely out of range from the splattering cakes."

We chuckle quietly, and my muscles relax. My father's gaze drifts to my plain, unadorned finger. I suddenly realize what he's looking for.

"I hope the ring didn't get lost in the cakes," he says.

"No." I don't know what else to say, so I don't continue. Otherwise, I'll admit I haven't worn the ring at all.

"It was Xenia's," my father says. "It would've passed to Odeia, but..." A long pause stills the room. "The ring needs to belong to someone. I've debated about this for several years, and now that you're older, I've decided to give it to you. Take good care of it. Some things can be taken lightly, others... not so much."

"I will," I say. "I promise."