The Enchanted Rose (10 page)

Fuentes lands at the base of the mountain and allows us to dismount and stretch our legs. I’m grateful for the break—not only did I fear freezing to death, but I was terrified of falling off the dragon’s back. 

He swerved around the lightning so much, I was afraid I would never get a chance to find out what caused the storm and how to fix it. I tremble the entire three steps it takes me to get to a tree so I can lean on something for a minute. 

“Are you going to be all right, Prince?” Gwydion asks, clapping my back to get my attention. I am about to fall apart, but nod, breathing a little heavier again.  

“I will be.” I rest my head against a branch and close my eyes. It causes a dizzy feeling to overcome me, and I have to hold on to the tree and look around so I don’t feel as if I am about to fall.  

“We must hurry. The storm appears to be getting worse, Your Highness.” I watch him from the corner of my eye. He gazes up to the sky with a look of disdain on his face. 

“All right, let’s go.” I push away from the trunk and head toward Fuentes. 

“Oh, no, Osric. Fuentes can only take us so far. There is nowhere up there for him to land safely. We must climb from here.” The wizard pulls a bag from beneath his cloak and sets it on the ground while he digs through it. 

“We’re climbing the mountain?” I look at it, noticing how steep it is, how few foot and hand holds it has, and the fact that lightning is flashing left and right, never reaching the ground, but I don’t doubt it has struck the mountain. 

“I will stay close and circle about, keeping an eye on both of you, but Gwydion is correct. There is nowhere up there for me to perch or land, certainly not somewhere you could safely climb to and from my back. I am sorry I cannot take you farther, Prince,” Fuentes says. 

“Then we should get going.” I sigh, realizing they are right. I just thought with a dragon on our side, surely this would be simpler. 

“Yes, we should.” The wizard puts the bag beneath his cloak once more and approaches the base of the mountain. He feels around until he finds somewhere to grab on to before clamping both hands down and pulling himself up. Once he is a few feet above me, I begin climbing.  

“My arms ache, everything aches, and we’ve only climbed a few feet. However are we going to make it to the top?” Gwydion yelps, once again losing his grip. 

I have trained for battle, learned to fight with a multitude of weapons, my arms are strong. I’ve climbed up a castle wall multiple times to see Roselyn. Even that was easier than what I do now. But still, I don’t dare complain. I don’t give up hope. We’ll get to the top.

I reach up and put one hand over the other until I’ve climbed another foot. The storm comes down on top of us, the black, smoky cloud now covering us. I can only see the bottom of Gwydion’s boots until he takes another step, and then all that is visible is the mountain itself. 

My hand slips from the icy surface, causing me to clench tighter with my other hand. The mountain is so cold, it’s almost burning me. Now I am grateful for bringing gloves, just as my mother told me to do. If the pain is this intense with the gloves, I can only imagine how much worse it is without. I continue on. I make it another foot. The wizard is nowhere in sight, but I don’t allow myself to panic, knowing I didn’t pass him, and I didn’t hear him fall. 

The storm is strangely silent. I reach up and find a much bigger section to grab on to. I pull myself up and over the small ledge and find we’re at the top, and a bit of the fog clears out.

The wizard stands beside me, looking in horror at the sight before us. It looks as if the lightning struck the alcove we stand in, causing the ice to splinter and turning the ground it touched purple—the same purple as the sky above. 

There against the back wall lies a white-haired woman, darkness seeping from her heart into the sky, causing the terrible storm above us. She lays motionless, but a small moan comes from her lips. 

“Selma!” Gwydion rushes to her side and rests her head in his lap. I stand by, unsure what to do and how to help. 

“My friend.” She opens her eyes, both violet purple. She opens her mouth to say more, but nothing comes out. 

“Selma, what happened?” The wizard no longer appears strong. I hadn’t thought about him knowing the Oracle, whom I assume is this woman. 

“She came and d—d—demanded  I give her powers. She commanded me to give her magic. She stole it, Gwydion.” The woman’s voice trembles, and she begins to shake violently. 

“Hold on, dear,” he says to her. “Prince, help!” I approach, still unsure what I am supposed to do. “Here, hold on to her. The elixirs are going to hurt a bit, but they will help.” He slides out from beneath her head and holds her up while I stoop down and allow her to rest on me. 

The wizard begins searching through his cloak until he finds a small vial. He pours a single drop onto the mountain and watches it fizz before grabbing another bottle and doing the same thing. Three times he does this before pulling out an empty glass and pouring the contents of all three bottles in it. 

He kneels down beside Selma and slowly pours the liquid into her mouth. She begins to cry as she drinks it. She clutches my hand and squeezes with such strength, I fear she may break my fingers. 

“Even your elixirs cannot save me,” she whispers, and her grip on my hand loosens. “She stole magic, Gwydion. She took it, and for that, she must pay. I tried to stave off the storm. I attempted to stop her from bringing this wrath, but I couldn’t do it. And now the world’s fate rests in your hands.” Her words chill me to the core. What is she talking about? 

“Selma, who did this to you?” Gwydion takes her hands. 

“The woman who shouldn’t be queen.” The words leave her mouth, and her body slumps. I look at Gwydion, uncertain what I am to do. Is she gone? If so, why is there still a storm rising from her? He looks just as panicked as I do. Quickly, he hovers over her mouth, searching for breath, I assume. 

“She’s alive. Most likely exhausted from the storm and magic being stolen from her. She will need to rest. We need to find a way to fix all this. We must close the storm, and figure out which queen in this land is the one who shouldn’t be.”

My first thought goes to my mother. She wasn’t raised here, but then again, she wouldn’t attack Selma for magic. She has her own, and she spoke fondly of the Oracle. Plus, she hasn’t been here in twenty years. 

There are those I wish weren’t queen. Jossa, for instance. But that doesn’t mean she
shouldn’t
be queen. Queen Krea—but she would never do this. She hated the evilness of her aunt. Magic stole her brother, Prince Javier, from her. There is Queen Amber, Prince Chavez’s mother. They are the only queens I have any connection with. And Queen Amber hardly counts, considering I only know of her because her son is betrothed to the woman I love. 

We know for a fact that all of these women are rightfully queens. So which of them doesn’t have magic? Which of them would need to steal some? 

Gwydion interrupts my thoughts. “We have quite a situation, Your Highness.” An understatement.

“What did she mean about the woman who shouldn’t be queen?” I ask him, hoping he has an answer.

“I do not know. She said the world’s fate rests in our hands. That means we have to figure this out. We have to find the person who did this. Selma said she cannot be saved, but as long as the storm thrives, she will be kept alive. We have a day or two, three at the most, to figure out how to stop it. Her body won’t last any longer than that.” 

“I suppose that’s the end to a lot of magic, considering that’s the maximum on the rose,” I comment dryly. 

“I know this is hard, Osric. I know you will do whatever it takes to be with her. And I can promise you, I will do what I can to help, but I need you to focus. Don’t worry about the rose. Don’t worry about Roselyn. Worry about this, about now, because unless we figure this out, there is no way we will be able to protect the one you love.” 

“Okay.” I nod, knowing he’s right. I have to concentrate. I have to figure this out. It’s a puzzle, a riddle. So we need to go back and find out which queen would have the most motivation. Where did each queen come from? How is it possible that a member of a royal family doesn’t already have magic?

“Good. Now, what do you know of the royal families?” 

“I know that my mother already has magic. She would have no reason to come here and do this. She just wouldn’t.” 

“I didn’t believe for a moment that your mother was the queen Selma spoke of. No, we’re looking for a queen who had nothing. Who came from nothing. So, which of our queens wasn’t born royal?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t even know how to figure that out.” 

“I can’t use magic, or we would already know the answer. That means we are going to have to consult something that already knows.” He begins searching his robes again. 

“Don’t you mean
someone
?” 

“Not at all. People don’t remember facts like that, but books will never fail you.” He pulls a small book from his robe and sits down on the icy mountain. I join him at the edge, letting my feet hang over as he begins flipping through the book. I notice that as he changes the page, pictures are moving, the words shifting. I try to lean closer to get a better look, but he leans farther away. “A wizard never gives away his secrets.” 

“The pages were changing,” I say in reply. “So that book isn’t from this world?”
“No. Or it wouldn’t work.” He continues flipping through the pages. 

“What information are you looking for?” 

“I need to know the lineage of each queen currently living. There is quite a bit of information here, though. It could take a while to get through everything. Even after it’s given me what I need to know, I still must cipher through the pieces and figure out which parts are relevant.”  “So you’re saying this is going to take a while?” I raise an eyebrow. 

He looks at me, the most serious of expressions capable of showing on his old face. “This, my boy, could take ages.” 

“We don’t have that long.” 

“Then I suggest you be quiet so I can search a little faster.” 

That shuts me up immediately. How can I argue with him when he’s trying to save Roselyn? I assume he has his own reasons, but still, my only concern is for Rose. Already, I miss her. I long to be holding her, to be with her, to at least know that I will get to see her again.

The queen smiles and chats constantly. She demands that I sit beside my betrothed, but it matters not. Every time he attempts to speak to me, Jossa pulls his attention back to her. If I thought I could get away with it, I would suggest that she marry him.

Brunch is miserable. I can’t eat more than two bites of food before I feel sick enough, I fear it will all come back up. Madrid stands in the corner, waiting to take care of me in any way she can, for which I am forever grateful. I will most certainly need someone to rescue me before the day is over.

“Dear, you should eat. I wouldn’t want you to be too weary to take the prince out and about.” 

“But Mother, what is there to see but ruin and disaster outside during the storm that still carries on?” I comment, knowing it will irk her. But how can she deny it when everyone can see it? 

“But dear, you must still see the seamstress for your wedding dress. And I am sure the prince needs to be fitted for his attire as well. While you’re getting that done, you can show him the beautiful gardens, the market that was unaffected by the storm.” 

I nod, knowing that arguing with her at this point is of no use. She will find a way to push us together, no matter what I say or do. And I suppose it is for the better. I wished to speak with him alone anyway.

Chavez looks at me with sorrow in his eyes, and I wonder if he has any idea what he has gotten himself into. Or is he dreading it just as I am, only he is better at pretending to be happy? I look at him again, taking in his features. He truly is handsome. I can imagine he would make Madrid the happiest person in the world. 

Now if only Mother and Father saw that too. I dare not look back at Madrid, but I can imagine she is watching the prince, studying him. 

And I realize that even if I didn’t love someone else, I could never be with Chavez. I meant it when I said Madrid is my best friend. I would never marry the person she wishes to be with, arranged or not. She deserves to be happy. And even if Osric and I can’t be together, it doesn’t mean all four of us should suffer. 

“Prince Chavez, when will your family arrive for the wedding?” Jossa asks sweetly. 

“They should be here tomorrow. I rode ahead—” 

Jossa cuts him off before he can finish. “So you could spend more time with Roselyn? How precious. She has nothing to do but be with you. Why not start the festivities early?” She raises her glass before taking a drink.

Chavez looks to me and back to her, just as confused as the rest of us. He truly didn’t have any idea about Jossa.

I know it wasn’t me he wished to see and spend time with. Even so, why not come weeks in advance? Why come now? 

Things aren’t adding up. Suddenly, I am grateful the queen is forcing me to spend time with Chavez. It means I will be able to speak to him without her listening to my every word, coaching me on what to say. 

I very much wish this brunch would pass quickly. Jossa continues to drink and eat and laugh and be loud. Chavez remains quiet, speaking scarcely, looking at me often, and trying to enjoy his food without Jossa falling all over him.

“You there.” Jossa points to a serving boy. He looks up and stammers. 

“Y—yes?”  

“You are to escort the prince and princess on their walk.” She smiles, as if proud of herself. But having this boy around is dangerous. I need to speak to Chavez freely. 

“Actually, Mother, I had hoped that my maid could escort us,” I counter, hoping she allows me this one small mercy. 

“Very well. We will need all the helpful servants in here, preparing for the wedding.” She says this as if her words won’t affect Madrid in the least. The
helpful
servants? Whatever in this world does she have against my maid? 

Madrid remains silent, so I do not say anything more, afraid it will only make the situation worse. And with that I take it as a sign for us to leave. I come to my feet and wait for Chavez to follow suit. He holds out his arm, so I take it and allow him to lead me out through the dining hall door. 

Another servant is already waiting with our cloaks, including one for Madrid. I thank her before letting the prince lead me outside. 

The wind has picked up. The rain is coming down harder, still stinging with every drop, but it appears to have dulled a bit.

“How have you enjoyed Tivor thus far?” I ask him, a look of discomfort on my face as I play my part. He appears to be happy, even if only on the outside. I know all too well about pretending. 

“It has been quite enjoyable.” His voice catches. “The queen certainly has everything in order, and appears quite eager for the wedding.” He clears his throat, his tone suggesting this isn’t a compliment. 

“You do not have to spare my feelings toward her. She is eager to get rid of me so she can have the kingdom all to herself.” 

He looks quite taken aback. “But she won’t have it to herself, will she? What of the king?” 

“I’m sure she’ll find a way around that. As it is, he’s hardly here. He’s never taken control. She runs the kingdom, even if she’s only the queen.” 

“You don’t seem happy about this. Does she not do a good job?” 

“It isn’t about that. She has no concern for the people—only greed, and even the best people can be ruined by that kind of control. She is determined to get rid of me. Why? I don’t stand in her way. She could allow me to marry Osric, to be happy, and still get what she wants.”  

“Why won’t she allow that?” He looks at me. Our feet stop working at the same time, so we stand still. I question how much I can tell him. Should he know the truth? 

Chavez looks back at the castle, then to me. “Do you think we’ve gone far enough now?”  

I look back as well. Madrid is keeping her distance so we can speak in private, but staying close enough not to lose sight of us. 

“Let’s move a bit farther into the woods,” I suggest, and continue walking forward. He follows suit, his arm still entwined with mine. I keep looking back until we’re surrounded by trees, with no part of the castle in sight. “I think we’re gone far enough now.”  

I remove my arm from the prince’s and step back. Madrid jumps into Chavez’s arms. He spins her around, kissing her on the lips. Her cheeks turn bright red, but she kisses him back. I turn away, wandering off alone to give them a moment.

Jossa can never know that every time Chavez comes here, it’s to see not me, but my maid. Our little secret. Just as Chavez knows that Osric is mine. 

The first time I told Chavez the truth was a night I’ll never forget. I wander to the very meadow where I spilled my heart out, just the thought taking me back to that cool summer night only a year ago. 

Prince Chavez had been here a month already, and still, I couldn’t find reasons to let go of my feelings for Osric in trade for Chavez. So I played nice, pretending to be enjoying myself, and all the while, I wished I were dancing with my prince, speaking with him, taking long walks with him, riding with him, being with him.

Chavez was pleasant company, no doubt. He was kind, caring, a gentlemen in every way. He is just as kind to Madrid as he is me, which I appreciate. But still, I was at a loss when it came to how this could possibly end well for everyone. 

As I arrived at breakfast, Mother clapped excitedly. “Oh, Roselyn, you’re here! Fantastic timing. I think today would be a splendid time for you to show Prince Chavez the gardens. Take him to the forest edge and show him around.” The glint in her eyes told me something was very wrong with this, but how could I argue? Chavez was here to spend time with me so we could get to know one another before our wedding in one year. Unless Osric and I could stop that from happening somehow—but none of our attempts had worked just yet. 

Realizing I had not answered Mother, I turned my attention back to her. “Of course. I would love that, if Prince Chavez is willing.” I looked at him, hoping he wished to do something else—on his own, preferably. 

“I would love to see the gardens.” He smiled at me, and for a moment, I truly felt sorry for him. It wasn’t his fault I had no feelings toward him aside from friendship. He didn’t ask for this any more than I did. And yet, here he was, trying his hardest to win me over and getting nowhere because he didn’t know that my heart already belonged to someone else. 

“Splendid! You two will have a grand time. The weather is perfect. In fact, perhaps you should take a basket filled with goodies and have a picnic while you are out there.” Mother clapped her hands again, thrilled with herself. 

“That would be lovely,” I commented, a smile on my face. But on the inside, all hope seemed to vanish. 

“I agree. The weather is very pleasant here. Even when the sun shines, it does not feel like it will roast you alive,” Chavez joked, I’m sure in reference to his home. 

Breakfast was eaten hurriedly, and not a moment after, Mother was parading us out the castle doors, a basket shoved in Madrid’s hands. This was planned long before the idea was presented to me and the prince, of that I’m sure. How else could she have gotten a basket ready so quickly? 

I led the way, staying ten steps in front of Chavez the entire time. I only looked back once to make sure he was still following me before I continue forward, marching to the meadows Mother spoke of. 

No doubt the area was beautiful, peaceful and quiet, secluded so no prying eyes or ears could spy on us. And right then, that is what I needed because I couldn’t go another day with this charade. He must know the truth. 

I looked back again. Chavez was taking longer now, admiring the beauty we were surrounded by. I marched back to him, took hold of his arm—giving Madrid a knowing look—and disappeared into the trees. 

“Where are we going?” He laughed nervously. 

I didn’t let go or slow down, nor did I answer him. I ran until we reached the river bed. With the sound of rushing water calming my nerves, I dropped Chavez’s hand and turned to face him. 

“Your Highness, please.” I shivered. “Prince Chavez, I cannot marry you.” I shook my head as I spoke, unable to hold still. “I’m sorry. I love Prince Osric, and it wouldn’t be fair to you if we go through with this.” My words were caught up in the shaking of my voice, but I continued. “Please don’t make me marry you. Please break off the betrothal.” I put my hands over my face, unable to look at him.

I heard the rustle of fabric, was enveloped by his arms as he wrapped them around me. My heart stuttered, beating erratically. A strong, calloused hand cupped my cheek, the other hand tilting my jaw up to look at him. “Dear Roselyn, I want you.” He gently wiped away the tears still streaming down my face, and my heart stopped. I couldn’t breathe as he leaned closer. I then knew his answer. I closed my eyes, unable to bear what I thought he would do next. When his lips didn’t press against mine, but instead his breath was hot on my ear, I startled. “To be happy,” he finished. 

“You mean . . . ?” 

“I will not marry you when it is not I you want. I could never put you through the same unbearable pain I myself am facing.” He stepped back, grasping my hands in his. 

“You’re in love with someone else.” A small smile played on my lips. 

“Yes. Though, you do have the advantage. Your one true love is royalty, whereas mine is a servant. And while it does not affect my feelings for her, my parents would hardly approve.” 

My smile fell. “True love shouldn’t be bound by status. Even if Osric weren’t a prince, I would love him anyway. Perhaps this is your chance to show the world that royalty does not equal snobbishness.” 

I sat on a log and pulled him down beside me. “Don’t let this stop you from following your heart, Chavez. Love will always find a way. If it’s meant to be, if your love is true, then it’s possible to be happy with her, whoever she is. Do not allow anyone to tell you that you shouldn’t be with her because she’s not royalty. Why not just be with the one you love?” 

“I wish more people saw things the way you do. I believe a lot more people would be happy. I want you to know that if your heart did not already belong to someone else, I would gladly learn to love you because you make it so easy.” He leaned closer and kissed my cheek. 

“Who is she, the one you do love?” I smiled, grateful that, after all, we could be friends. 

“I do not know if it is a good idea for me to tell you, of all people, considering you are closer to her than anyone.”