Beneath the Winter Roses

My room overlooked the winter gardens. Fresh clothes had been laid across the bed, and the maid told me a physician would visit before supper. She asked whether I preferred tea or something stronger to drink, as though I were an expected guest rather than a woman who had agreed to come only that morning.

I thanked her and waited until she left before opening my traveling bag. My mother's hairpin lay wrapped in a handkerchief, its bent silver flower catching the lamplight.

The physician examined my knee and assured me it was healing. After supper, I changed into the pale blue dress provided for me. Its sleeves were embroidered with tiny white flowers, and the fabric was softer than anything I owned.

A few days ago, I had stood before another mirror in my wedding dress, wondering whether Damon would smile when he saw me. I had worried about the flowers, the guests, whether the ceremony would begin on time. I almost wished I could return to that morning for an instant, before I knew what waited at the altar.

A maid arrived to tell me His Majesty would receive me in the winter gardens after dusk.

The gardens lay beneath a glass roof, sheltered from the snow gathering on the distant mountains. Lanterns hung among climbing vines, and a fountain murmured beyond the hedges. I followed the path until I came upon a bed of pale roses.

They reminded me of the chapel behind Silvercrest, where my mother was buried. My father had tended its roses himself, kneeling beside the stone wall with dirt on his cuffs. When I was little, I carried a basket for the petals he clipped away and listened to him speak about her.

He told me she had planted flowers wherever she found an empty patch of earth. I remembered so little of her that sometimes his stories felt more familiar than her face.

After he died, I continued visiting the chapel. I would sit beside her grave and tell them both about my day. It had been foolish, perhaps, but I liked to imagine they were listening.

Damon used to walk me there. One evening, he caught my hand before my sleeve snagged on a thorn and laughed when I insisted I could manage. We spoke of the rooms we would share after our marriage, the storehouse I wanted to expand, the training grounds he intended to rebuild.

He had promised we would make those plans together.

Now the chapel was hundreds of miles away. The house where my father had raised me belonged to a life I could no longer enter, and the room I had shared with Damon would be Vanessa's. I wondered who would tend the roses when winter ended. There had always been someone to ask after me in Silvercrest. Here, even my name felt borrowed.

I wiped my eyes, angry with myself for crying where someone might find me.

"Seraphina?"

Kael stood at the end of the path with a dark coat folded over his arm. I turned away from the roses and tried to compose my face.

"Your Majesty. I'm sorry. I didn't hear you arrive."

"The gardens are colder after sunset," he said. "May I?"

He lifted the coat slightly. I hesitated before nodding, conscious that refusing might seem ungracious.

He settled it around my shoulders, careful of my injured arm. The wool held a trace of warmth, and its hem reached almost to my knees. When he stepped away, I drew the edges together, suddenly aware of how unmistakably it belonged to him.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

He looked toward the roses, then back at me.

"They reminded me of home," I said, before he could ask.

"Silvercrest?"

"My parents are buried near a chapel there. My father loved the gardens."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

I nodded. There was kindness in his voice, but I had shared enough. He let the silence remain, and we listened to the fountain for a while.

"I hope I can visit again someday," I said.

"The roads are open to you under royal protection."

It sounded simple when he said it. Perhaps, for him, it was. I looked at the lanterns reflected in the glass and wondered how easily a king could change things that other people had to endure.

"You arranged the east wing before I accepted your invitation," I said carefully.

"I did."

"Were you certain I would come?"

"I thought it wise to be prepared if you did."

His answer was reasonable, and it gave me little to dispute. Still, the official's surprise in the courtyard had been genuine. I wondered how many decisions Kael had already made while I was struggling to make one.

We walked toward the fountain. He matched my slower pace, and I kept a little distance between us, the coat gathered in my hands.

"I intend to continue looking for work," I told him. "A merchant may answer my letter soon. I hope you understand."

"Of course. And if he cannot offer you a position?"

"I'll write to someone else."

"You could remain here."

I looked at him. "I would need a reason to do so, Your Majesty. I couldn't accept your hospitality indefinitely."

"Then perhaps we should discuss the arrangement I mentioned at the outpost."

At last. I had wondered about it since he'd first offered me shelter, and now my hands tightened around the borrowed coat.

"Is it work for the Crown?" I asked.

"No."

"Then I'm afraid I don't understand what I could offer you."

Kael turned to face me. A breeze moved through the vines overhead, and one lantern swayed, scattering pale light across his dark sleeve. The lantern light caught in his golden eyes, but his expression had grown serious. For a moment I remembered Damon's promises beside the chapel, and how certain I had been of a future I could no longer imagine.

"Seraphina," he said, "I would like you to marry me."