Princess of the Midnight Ball - Jessica Day George [12]
“Thank you kindly, Princess Rose,” Walter said. “O’ course, the master gardener’s caught up with training a newcomer. Seems his nephew returned from the war yesterday. A fine young man, but he can’t tell a lilac from a peony.”
Rose nodded in sympathy.
“They’re down that-a-way,” Walter said, jerking his thumb to the left. “You might want to take your ease by the swan fountain, Princess, instead of the yellow-rose bower.” He was well acquainted with Rose’s favorite haunts.
“Thank you, Walter,” she said, and turned toward the fountain.
He saluted her with the shears as she passed.
Rose went along the westward path until she came to the swan fountain. It was one of the smaller ones, though the bowl below the statue of the larger-than-life swan was still large enough to bathe in. The bird’s bronze neck curved over the floating lilies, its beak just touching the clear water. There were benches all around the fountain, and it was on one of these Rose liked to sit and think. The palace peacocks, with their strange creaking cries, could be heard only faintly from here, making it a place of quiet reflection.
Literally. Rose could look through the clear water and see her image in the burnished bottom of the fountain. She wished that Master Orm and his gardeners weren’t quite so conscientious about keeping it clean. There was something disturbing about looking into the water and seeing a vision of your drowned self looking back.
Rose tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She hadn’t realized that she looked so tired. She was barely seventeen years old but thought she looked much older. She stirred the water with a finger, breaking up the image, and turned her back on the fountain to gaze out over the garden.
Why shouldn’t she appear tired? She had eleven younger sisters all looking to her for guidance. She had taken her mother’s place as the designated hostess for all social functions at the palace, and there had been a great many lately in the wake of the victory against Analousia. Just now there were three different foreign ambassadors at the palace, being wined and dined and hopefully signing lucrative trade agreements.
And almost every night there was the dancing.
There was always dancing after state dinners, and as the crown princess she was never “humiliated” by having to sit out a dance without a partner. King Gregor believed that an excess of revelry was unwholesome, however, so the dancing always ended promptly at eleven o’clock.
Which gave the twelve sisters just enough time to freshen up before they attended the Midnight Ball.
Rose turned back to the water and leaned over to look at her reflection again. Did it show on her face that she was cursed? Tired, yes, she certainly appeared tired. But would a curse—her curse, her sisters’ curse, her mother’s curse—leave its mark too?
A sudden scuffling of the gravel on the path startled her, and she lost her balance, slipping headfirst into the water. But before she could crack her skull on the bottom of the fountain, a strong arm was around her waist, pulling her back.
“Easy, there! Easy!”
Sputtering, Rose found herself back on her favorite bench, only now she was sopping wet and embarrassed besides. A tall, rather handsome young man was standing over her, looking concerned. His brown gardening smock was open at the collar, despite the chill in the air, and she could see a thin white scar slashing the tanned skin it revealed. Curious, she couldn’t stop staring at this.
“Um, fraulein?’
His voice drew her gaze upward. His voice was young, but his face was tanned from long hours in the sun, and there were even a few lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth. His hair was very short, but looked like it might curl if given the chance.
“Fraulein? Are you all right? Did I frighten you?”
Rose stopped staring and mustered her dignity. Of course he had startled her—she hadn’t suddenly decided to dive into an icy fountain for her health!—but she felt it would be rude to mention that. Instead she nodded graciously.