A Ruin of Roses (Deliciously Dark Fairytales 1)

“The king forbade it. He forbade anyone to touch any part of the grounds except for the everlass. He said that was the queen’s role—the management of the grounds—and without a queen, there could be no grounds.”

“And look at the fix he’s gotten us all in with his terrible decision-making. Besides, he’s dead, Hadriel. His royal decrees or whatever don’t mean squat anymore.”

I bent and dug my hands through the dirt. Something scraped my finger, and I grimaced, pulling it out to look. A drop of blood welled up, and I smiled. I fed the blood back into the ground.

“You see?” I held up my finger even though he was still on the other side of the wall. “It drew first blood. It has chosen me. Now all I need to give it is sweat and tears, and we’ll be all set.”

“Since when do you talk like a warrior? They are plants, Finley. Come out of there this minute!”

“Nah.” I continued sizing up the space, working out in my head what I’d need to do first, and what tools I’d need to accomplish it. I wondered if anyone could be spared to help.

“Okay, but listen here, Finley.” Hadriel sounded like he was pressed against the wall. “The king passed that law because he wanted the prince to settle in with a noblewoman of dragon blood and make her queen. Or at least a queen in waiting.”

“And when he couldn’t get his way, he made a deal with the demons, and here we are. I know.”

He kept talking, but I wasn’t really listening. Although there was no door to the rest of the grounds, there was a lovely patio I hadn’t noticed from my tower room. It led to a pair of large glass doors in the side of the castle. Darkness waited beyond.

Royalty had lived through there.

In awe, I stepped up onto the patio.

“No, but… The king blamed the queen’s death on the prince. When the prince tried to marry for love, it broke the queen’s heart, and she died. That’s what was said. The funeral brought back the prince and the demons, and the king trapped him here.”

The queen herself had come out through those doors and onto this patio. She’d used these—now rotting—wooden chairs to look out at her or her gardener’s handiwork. She’d maybe breakfasted or taken lunch out here on fine days, soaking in the beauty. Maybe before the king had gone mad, they loved each other and celebrated that out here.

No, probably not. Royalty didn’t find love.

Well, maybe she had enjoyed some self-love, thinking about a hot gardener or something.

I approached the glass, shielding my eyes from the glare.

“She and the prince had a really tight bond,” Hadriel called, his voice distant as I tried to peer in the room.

Despite all the times I’d played make-believe as a kid, pretending to be in the royal court, I’d never believed it would actually happen. And now, after the world had gone to shit, here I was standing on the queen’s private patio. This was blowing my mind.

I couldn’t see anything through the glass, but curiosity was burning a hole through me. I tried the doors, figuring they’d be locked. Could I find my way through the castle to check the other side? Nyfain had a skeleton key—if there were ever a reason to seduce someone…

I pulled on the handle. Nothing happened. A push had the same result. I dragged my hand as I stepped away, and the glass pulled away from the other side.

I froze. Sliding glass. I’d never seen such a thing! But then, I’d also never seen a single pane of glass as big as these doors. Money made miracles.

I slid it open farther.

“Finley?” Hadriel called. “Finley, did you fall in? What’s happening?”

“I’m fine,” I called, a bit hushed, pulling the door open.

“Don’t nose around in there. The master blames himself for what happened, and that garden is the remnants of something she loved. He won’t want it disturbed.”

His words flowed around me as I ventured into the dark space beyond, and although I could hear him, I wasn’t listening.

Two fabric chairs teamed with a couch sat around a little table by the door. A place for tea, probably. Not a speck of dust marred the shiny surface, as though this room was still routinely cleaned. The floor was plastered with an enormous rug, nearly large enough to cover my entire house. A little desk waited off to my right, cleared of any parchment, and a large mirror was stationed on the other side. Other furniture took up residence, but I crept toward the oddest thing in the room. A rosebush somehow—obviously magically—grew out of the actual floor! As though the floor were dirt. It looked almost fake but for the differences in the browns and yellows of the leaves and the way it curled as it died. The branches were brittle and roses deep brown and wilted except for a few. It was in terrible shape.