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“Thank you for your help,” she said, trying to ignore the cold water that was dripping off her hair and soaking her dress, or the fact that most of her shawl was still in the fountain, with only a corner of it hooked over her elbow.

“I’m Galen,” the young man said, picking up the rake he had dropped to help her. He held out his free hand.

Rose looked at him in shock. Did he not know who she was? True, the Westfalian court was rather informal, but princesses did not shake hands with gardeners in any country she had heard of. Then it occurred to her that he must be the new gardener, Master Orm’s nephew.

“Oh!” She stood but didn’t take his hand. “I’m Princess Rose,” she explained, smiling stiffly. She knew what would happen next: he would turn red, and then start stammering, and then back away. And whenever she passed him in the future, the awkward dance would be repeated.

He did turn red, but just a little, and his tan hid most of it. But instead of stammering and backing away, he gave her a bow and simply said, “A pleasure to meet you, Your Highness. Please forgive me for not recognizing you.”

Now Rose was the one stammering. “Quite—quite all right. No harm done … Galen.”

“Do you need help getting back to the palace, Your Highness? The weather is quite chill, and you took a good dunking there.”

“Um, no, thank you.” She dragged her shawl out of the fountain and gathered the heavy, dripping mass together as best she could. “I’ll be fine, thank you.”

He nodded courteously. “I’d better finish raking, then,” he said.

“Yes.”

He was still looking at her.

“Yes?” Now she was even more flustered and confused.

“If I have your leave to go, Your Highness …?”

“What? Oh! Of course.” She nodded her head and then, feeling foolish, made her escape. “Good-bye!” She walked quickly down the path that led to the palace.

After he was out of sight, she slowed down a little. The princesses did not require people to ask permission to leave; it was more the king’s prerogative.

“But where did he learn such nice manners?” she wondered aloud.

“What did you say, Rose?” Lily came around a hedge and stared at her. “Why are you all wet?”

“I’m not all wet,” Rose said irritably. “I’m partly wet. I fell in the fountain. The swan fountain. A gardener had to fish me out and… what are you doing?”

Lily was holding a basket full of handkerchiefs. Rose looked around and realized that they were at the entrance to the hedge maze. A chill breeze came rushing around them, rattling the autumn-dry hedge and making her shiver.

“Oh, it’s the younger set.” That was how the three youngest sisters—Orchid, Pansy, and Petunia—were referred to by the others. Rose, Lily, and Jonquil were the “older set,” and the six in the middle were “in-betweeners.” “They wanted to play Hansel and Gretel, so I’m leaving a trail of handkerchiefs for them. Except the handkerchiefs keep blowing away.”

“We wanted to use white rocks,” Orchid chimed in, popping around the corner and startling Rose. “But Lily said that Master Orm would be angry if we rearranged his rocks. Do you think that he would? And aren’t they Papa’s rocks anyhow?”

“They wanted to use the pebbles from the main path,” Lily explained. “I was mostly worried that the rocks would chip the blades of the grass clippers, when they trim the lawn next.”

“A good idea,” Rose said, and then sneezed. “Oh dear, I’d best get inside.”

“Why are you all wet?” Orchid blinked up at her owlishly.

“I’m not all wet,” Rose said again. “I put my arm in a fountain.”

“And your head and your other arm and your shawl,” Orchid pointed out. “Which fountain was it? Was the water very cold?”

“The swan fountain, and yes it was,” Rose answered her. “Now why don’t we all go inside? It’s too chilly to play out here.”

“Yes, Mother.” Orchid rolled her eyes.

Rose didn’t bother to reply. Being called “Mother” on top of being cold, and wet, and upset about well, everything, had set her temper on the boil. She stamped off to the palace with her dripping shawl hanging from her arms. She passed Lilac and the twins, Poppy and Daisy, on her way to