Princess of the Midnight Ball - Jessica Day George [28]
“Oh, yes!” Rose smiled warmly at him. “They were beautiful.”
“I still have mine,” Violet piped up. “I dried it, and it’s in a little vase on my pianoforte.”
“I’m glad,” Galen told her, but his eyes were on Rose. “I hoped that you would like them.” Rose thought the bouquet he made for her had been beautiful.
“Oh, that reminds me.” Rose fished in the pocket of her cloak and brought out the cord Galen had used to tie her bouquet. “Would you like this back? I’m sure it will come in handy.”
“No, no! You must keep it, Princess Rose,” Galen said. “The old soldier who taught me how to knit always said that a knitted cord made with black wool can ward off evil. I thought perhaps—” He stopped, embarrassed. He had given them the bouquets wrapped with black wool cord to stave off their illness, but he knew that it was not his place.
“Well, thank you,” Rose said, apparently not noticing his hesitation. She coiled the little cord and put it back in her pocket.
Then there was nothing else to say, and Galen stood before the two princesses, looking awkward. “Well.” He rocked on his heels, thinking that he had better get back to work before Reiner came by and berated him. “Since I’m sure you are enjoying the many royal suitors who have come to gaze upon your beauty, I suppose I had better take myself off.” He bowed. “I would hate to be challenged to a duel.”
Galen grinned and winked as he said this, but was shocked by their responses. Rose closed her eyes and looked pained, and Violet actually crossed herself and muttered a prayer.
There was a noise behind him, and Galen turned to see two of the middle princesses, with the youngest in tow. They were all staring at him with appalled expressions.
“Is he talking about the princes who died?” Petunia asked. She frowned at Galen. “We’re not supposed to talk about them,” she said in a loud whisper.
“Who … died?” Galen’s voice faltered.
“Ssshh!” Petunia was dragged away by the two sisters holding her hands. “Sssssh!” she said over her shoulder, still glaring at Galen.
“Rose, we should go back to our rooms. You should rest,” Violet said stiffly, not meeting Galen’s eyes. Only moments before she had been beaming at him for making her eldest sister smile. Galen’s heart sank.
“No,” Rose said, shaking her off. “He has a right to know. Everyone does.”
“But, Rose,” Violet protested. “He’s a gardener. He doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
Anger flashed through Galen, and he fought it down. “She’s right,” Galen said, turning away. “I’m just a gardener.” He didn’t want to cause Rose any more embarrassment.
“They say you were once a soldier,” Rose called after him. “That you fought in the war.”
He turned back slowly, straightening his shoulders. “That is true, Your Highness.”
“Then do you know the roads to the south of Westfalin, that lead to Spania and to Analousia?”
“Indeed I do, Your Highness. I traveled them, returning from the war.” He thought of the strange old woman he had met on his way, and the cloak she had given him. It was hidden in the chest in his room back at his uncle’s house. A cloak of invisibility was of little use to an under-gardener.
“Are there many bandits on those roads? Were you in great danger?” Rose’s face was strange, as though she already knew the answer.
“No, Your Highness.” Galen shook his head, puzzled. “There are few farms along those roads, but the people were kind to a weary soldier. Perhaps, since I returned, things have changed. But it has been only a few months. … ”
She was already shaking her head. “Everyone says the same. There have never been thieves along those roads, or cause for concern. And yet, the Spanian prince who came courting, and tried to … to spy on us at night, was killed by brigands on his way home.”
Galen drew back. “I am very sorry, Your Highnesses.” He recalled the foppish prince he had seen screeching at the porters in the courtyard. The prince’s sword had looked mostly ornamental and probably