That was what I loved about her.
“She’ll make a great queen,” I had told Fox. “She’s gracious and funny and good.”
I sorely wanted to see her coronation. I wanted to see how the crown would react when it was placed on her head, see what feeling would come from the wood. It was the reason each coronation was in the garden, why Papa spent months planning this very occasion, mapping out where every bulb and bloom would be. When King Merrick had been crowned, the flowers had all bloomed at once, the color of cerulean skies. For his father before him, the wisteria trees had sprouted from the ground, before him, the honeysuckles that still climbed across the castle’s spires.
And it was my father’s job, and my job, to preserve them and prune them, and help them flourish. We were not just royal gardeners—we were historians of sorts, preserving Aloriyan history in flowers and roots.
And what kind of historian would I be if I didn’t see my own best friend crowned?
There was a secret archway on the far side of the castle that led into the garden where the coronation was to be held. I could watch the ceremony from the curtain of vines hanging in the archway, and the seneschal wouldn’t know.
I stepped onto the side walkway to the castle, making my way up the stone path toward the royal garden. Lanterns lit the way, dandelions poking up between the smooth stones. The tall wisteria trees bent in toward me, their long lavender-flowering vines hanging like curtains to hide the side entrance to the royal garden. A breeze leafed through the vines like night spirits, bringing in the last bite of winter frost.
I was almost suffocating in my dress. I hadn’t worn a corset in nearly a year, and lacing it up had proven a challenge. The beige petticoat was a little too long for me, and I knew I’d eventually muddy the hem by the time the evening was done. The gown I wore had once been my mother’s. It was the last bit of her I had left, and while I really didn’t want to wear it out where it could be dirtied or damaged, Papa and I could barely afford seeds for the spring as it was—a new gown was out of the question. The dress was the color of sage, pale and soft, with the barest hint of embroidered leaves around the stitching at my waist, curling down the endless expanse of silk like vines. It was cinched at my waist with a deep green sash. The dress was hard to walk in, and harder to stand still in, because my stays would creak and the lace tucker around my neck would scratch at my skin. I almost wanted to tear it all off and go traipsing around in my shift. It wasn’t like anyone was going to see me tonight anyway.
I’d forgotten my hair ornaments, so I found a pleasant-looking twig from the wisteria trees with a few blooms still on it, and I picked the scab off the tip of my finger. The twig turned green and sprouted pale blue flowers. I twisted half of my unruly hair up with it. The rest I braided as I stood outside in the pleasant evening air.
In the distance, lightning crackled across the horizon, followed by the deep, low rumble of thunder. A storm was brewing, purple and bruised against the sunset. I hoped it’d hold off until after the coronation, which was to be held on the garden terrace.
Rounding the garden wall, I followed the golden glow of lanterns through the trees—and found that a shadow stood by the wall, staring at the stones before them. I felt the back of my neck prickle. No one was allowed back here, and all the servants were busy tending to the guests.
“Who’s there?” I called.
The shadow glanced back at me, though darkness obscured its face. Then the torches lining the pathway flickered—and the figure was gone.
I hesitantly made my way up to the archway where the person had been, looking to see where they might have run off to. It didn’t make sense that they would just vanish into thin air. . . . Maybe it was just a trick of my imagination; the stress of the day getting to me.
But then I inspected the stone the stranger had been looking at, and there were names carved into it. Time had worn them away, but I knew what they said. My thumbs traced the letters, spelling out the names of a prince and his guard, long dead.
“Cerys!”
I jumped at Papa’s voice and spun around. He came up behind me, down the dimly lit stone path, looking dapper in a brown suit and a matching bowler hat tipped back on his head, a lily stuck in the ribbon. He grinned at me. “You look as beautiful as a sweet pea in bloom! Put your old man on your dancing card, would you?” He did a quick jig, and I couldn’t help but to laugh.
“You’re so odd.”
“I’m not the one hiding behind the garden wall.”
“I’m not hiding,” I tried to argue, but he waved me off because of course he knew I was lying.
“The fairest lady seneschal talked to you, too, eh?” he said, and my cheeks burned with embarrassment. The seneschal had even confronted my father about Anwen wanting us to be a part of her coronation? When I didn’t respond, he had his answer and sighed. “I figured as much. So you’ve decided to seclude yourself back here, then.”
“I like it back here—and the fox doesn’t seem to mind the company,” I added, waving over to the creature, who slunk into a nearby bush with a bone one of the kitchen staff must’ve given him.
Papa didn’t look quite so convinced. He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, his rough hand lingering on my cheek. In the soft lantern light, he looked old and wise, with a dirt smudge on his cheek and his wild gray hair sticking out from underneath his hat. He said tenderly, “Never let anyone make you feel unworthy. You deserve the moon just as much as anyone else.”
“Yes, well, only if the moon is made of cheese. It doesn’t do me any good otherwise.” I licked my thumb and rubbed the dirt off his cheek. “Now go out there and find yourself someone to dance with. I saw Gregor over near the endover lilies.”
“G-Gregor!” he sputtered. “That son of a— He owes me thirteen shills and three glades after our last gambling night!”
“Mm-hmm,” I replied, slinging my arm around his shoulder, and led him toward the entrance to the garden. “I think he also might owe you a dance.” I playfully nudged him through the honeysuckle vines that disguised the archway, and into the party.
He spun around and called, “Sprout?”
“Yes, Papa?”
He stood taller, his chin held high, and said, “You’re a daughter to be proud of.”
My bottom lip wobbled, and I shooed him away. He melted into the crowd of lace and satin, and when he was gone, I let the vines fall back over the archway and turned away. The music was softer on the outside of the garden, but I could still hear the kingdom’s most beautiful waltzes. I’d heard them my entire life, watching dresses of licorice and sunflower and marigold blend together in picturesque bouquets.
I sat on the grass beside the fox, who was now curled up, his nose buried in his tail. I leaned back against the ancient wall, humming the song. “I know it’s silly,” I told him, “but I always wanted to dance at a party like that, in a beautiful gown, with the right partner.”
The fox cracked one eye open. His nose twitched.
“Oh, don’t give me that. I know I can’t waltz. . . .”
The fox closed his eyes again.
“But perhaps with a talented partner . . .” I got to my feet and picked him up before he could squawk a disagreement, holding him against me tightly. I began to hum the song gently, my feet shuffling along because, unlike Wen, no one had taught me how to waltz. I pretended I was in the middle of all those supple silk skirts and rustling bows, the song bright and achingly familiar in my throat.