Page 2 of Shadows and Roses

My world tilted at that voice.

Count Vern stepped out of the shadows. His hoarse, pained tone was nothing like the man who had congratulated me on my twentieth birthday only two days ago, where I’d danced with the Escorts, spinning from arm to arm to the green eyes of—

"Not now, Escort," I said, continuing to my chambers.

I did not have time, could not afford to show weakness. Not even here.

His silence trailed my steps.

A veritable legion of servants worked in my dressing chambers, where roses and gold dust flew in barely organized chaos. Their focus was a simple, form-fitting, floor-length red dress at its core. The extravagance lay in the work of the servants' adept fingers.

Roses were banned across our land, their display reserved only for the royal family. It was also the symbol of our nation:a red rose in full bloom on a background of yellow. The red sun over the plains and fields of Drantar.

This dress was covered with rose petals of every color, each carefully sewn and layered into the fabric. Red floated over my shoulders and across my collarbone, darkening to meld with the black sash wrapping my waist, then fading to white pooled around my feet. A slit ran down the hip, revealing my legs and the ornate dagger strapped to my thigh.

Some of the petals were designed to fall off, marking my footsteps. And one last touch—gold dust at the tips of every petal.

I wore and became a symbol of our nation, of the people, of what was truly important to me.

Something the court would never understand.

The Escorts—my Escorts now—flowed around me as I exited our sanctuary. My entourage, my armor, and my heart.

By the time my slow, measured steps carried me before these large wooden doors, the council members had already gathered within. My guards remained outside as I glided to the throne.

My throne.

Petals floated as I took my seat.

Wary silence greeted me. My position on the throne wasn't unusual. Per tradition, I began two years ago to oversee the council on sporadic occasions. But this dress? The princess never bothered with extravagance.

"The Queen is dead," I said for the second time today. Not allowing them a moment to respond, I continued, "Captain Jerome is investigating the situation. My coronation will be tomorrow. Lady Chrysalm, make the preparations. Lady Lyrroth, send missives to the absent nobles. They have a moon to present themselves to their new Queen."

Shocked stillness greeted my announcements. I applied a faint frown and slight impatience to my next words. "Was I unclear, Lady Chrysalm?"

"No, princess," she responded hastily. "But… that is, a coronation requires moons to plan—"

"You have one day. Tomorrow evening, my lady." I kept my voice firm. My mother had crowned herself as quickly not so long ago. The council could not be allowed to establish their power.

When no one interceded, the lady bowed her head. "Yes, of course, your highness. I'll see to it right away." She hurried out of the room.

My gaze settled on Lyrroth's stunned face. "Chamberlain?" I snapped.

"Princess. Yes. I-I'll have the letters sent today." Her face was pale, her hands shaking as she rose from her seat. Lyrroth offered a quick bow before also departing.

The council finally stirred. They turned to each other with cautious, calculating, curious glances. I could almost hear them hissing.

"You're certain she's dead?" said Lord Magdus, a councilor by little more than tradition.

A note of contempt slid into my tone. "Are you implying I do not know what a corpse looks like, Lord Magdus?"

His confidence slipped, and he bowed his head.

"You found the body, then? Was anyone with you?" Soft was the voice of the suspicious and sharp mind of Duchess Satryani.

I gave her a small, satisfied smile as I rubbed a red petal between my fingers. "I was alone."

Matricide was practically tradition. Queen Jana had done it. They wouldn't care so long as I didn't threaten their way of life, would probably respect me more for it.

---