As much as I told myself it would be my only night with Pierre, it wasn't.

In the days that followed leading up to the ball celebrating my engagement to Jourdon, Pierre and I met several more times. We both knew it was impossible to hide such an affair under the watchful eyes of the palace. Already too many people knew. There were the guards that stood watch that night, and the quiet servant that arrived the next morning, steaming herbal tea in hand.

"To prevent any...unwanted things happening," Pierre had said, dismissing the servant.

But thankfully, all of them stayed silent, and the king seemed none the wiser. Even if I felt Darren's quiet gaze following me. I knew he was eager to lecture me about what I was doing.

I didn't care. It was reckless. It was wrong. But I was so tired of always doing what was right. How could things get any more dangerous than being betrothed to a man that wanted me dead?

Jourdon tried to call on me several times, but each time I came up with an excuse, seeing to the planning of the ball with the Marquise alone.

I knew Sabinedidn't like it. She was no fool, but like with Darren, I never gave her the chance to say what she wanted to say. The idea of facing her left a strange uneasiness in my stomach, and it was hard to even meet her eyes.

I already knew what she was thinking, I saw it in her troubled gaze each time I refused Jourdon's invitations. I kept telling myself I would take the next one. Ease suspicion. Listen to the voice that kept telling me I was going too far. But avoiding Jourdon was easier than facing him.

 I had Pierre for now and being with him was easier than facing the pile of quiet criticism and growing dread that was looming over me like gathering shadows.

One day Pierre and I found ourselves in the garden where we had stolen off behind a hedge. Pierre rolled away from me, spreading himself out on the grass, twigs sticking out from his tousled hair. He smiled wide as the sun shone down through the gaps in the cloudy sky and we used his discarded long coat to fend off the lingering chill in the air.

I perched up on an elbow and leaned over him. He lifted his chin and I bent down, leaving a lingering kiss on his mouth. He kept his eyes closed as we parted, his dark lashes casting shadows over his cheeks as sunlight streamed through the leaves to paint patterns on his skin. For a moment, his dark hair shone vibrant red, but then the light shifted, leaving it his usual dark-oiled black. Beside us sat his discarded shoes, their golden buckles sparkling amid the garden.

"We probably shouldn't linger much longer; someone is sure to come through here soon enough."

Pierre pouted as he wrapped an arm around my waist. "I am quite comfortable. No need to be so hasty, no one will come looking for us here. Besides, they did all their gardening early this morning and we are far enough from the stables that no one will pass by."

I frowned, but relented, snuggling back down into his arms. I knew this could not last much longer, but each time I saw him I always said it would be the last time--one last memory before we were forced to part. He would probably hate me once I did, but I could not bring myself to tell him.

Pierre tightened one of my loose curls around his long fingers, tugging on it as he gazed up at me curiously.

"Tell me of your magic."

I immediately stiffened,  then relaxed when I saw him arch an eyebrow in amusement.

"My apologies, I did not realize it was a touchy subject."

I shook my head. "It is alright, but I have already told you most of what I know. I've never truly known it, after all, just the stories. It is as distant to me as the palace of Verenice is to Roche."

Pierre tugged his lips to the side thoughtfully, still bearing a few traces of red around his mouth, the paint spreading down to the fine point of his chin.

"So, you are saying that is where it is kept? In the palace."

I furrowed my brows, confused. "What do you mean?"

"The Rose Crystal? The Crystal that was given to you by the Cristaney Queen and stores the magic of the Rose line. I suppose it would make sense that it would be there. Well guarded I expect."

I pulled away from him. "What are you... How do you know that?"

Pierre let out a peel of laughter at my perplexed expression, drawing me closer as he grinned. "Don't look so surprised, I do read sometimes. The rest I just put together. Your line has always fascinated me. To think, I am holding an heir to such legendary Gift in my arms." He leaned forward to press a soft kiss on my lips, his tone turning low and seductive. "It's too good to be true."

"I never knew you were such a scholar. Something you and Jourdon have in common..." I trailed off, Jourdon's name falling bitterly from my tongue. I frowned, averting my gaze.

Pierre continued to play with my hair, setting his head back down on the ground. He pressed his lips together into a frown.

"My brother and I have nothing in common." He glanced at me. "Aside from you."

My cheeks burned, shame bursting from within me. I shook my head. "Jourdon does not care for me, that much I know."

Pierre arched a brow. "Oh? Well. Could have fooled me. Word is he has been seen looking rather stricken walking around the palace lately.

I didn't like the direction of this conversation. "Most likely because his mother just died," I said coolly.

"Yet, his betrothed is mysteriously absent."

Guilt tugged at me, even if Jourdon had no right to it. I angled myself a little higher, putting some distance between us. "Are you trying to convince me to run back to his side?"

Pierre's fingers traced shapes up my arm. "A show could ease a few suspicions. Until I can convince my father to marry us instead, anyway." He smirked. My stomach turned, he kept bringing that up. I didn't know how to explain to him that was impossible, but each time, like I was doing with everything else, I avoided it.

I sat up, tightening the laces of my dress and trying to fix my hair while Pierre remained laying on the ground.

"Do you mind me asking what happened?"

I nervously tugged on my hair, then let out a sigh. Pierre had not asked me that night, or in the times that followed, but he deserved at least some kind of explanation. Any day now I would vanish, and perhaps if he knew my reasons it would hurt him less. I just was not sure how much I should tell him.

I looked down and let our eyes meet. He reached out to take my hand in his, pressing my fingers to his plush lips.

And I decided I trusted him. Sabine was wrong. Pierre would never hurt me.

I considered what he had said before. "You have read a bit on Rosailles and our Queens, yes?"

He nodded.

"Then you must know that not all books, especially here in Garnette, are friendly to me. That in fact some of them paint a very... different kind of image."

Pierre's gaze flickered with something, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

"You are speaking of the Aurelian cult." He rubbed his thumb over my hand, looking down at our clasped fingers. His features sharpened, his lips curling. "Unfortunately, their sentiments are far too easy to come by in this country. I am sorry if you have had to experience any of it."

I heaved a breath, the next words still too terrible to speak out loud, but I forced myself to.

"Well, there are many who believe in it. People within this own castle. People we pass day-to-day. They want me dead because of who I am."

Pierre's gaze snapped up to mine, searching my face like he was looking for an answer there. His hand gripped mine tighter.

"I long feared that to be true." His eyes pierced mine. "But with me, you have nothing to fear. I won't let them harm you. Not now, not ever. Things have changed."

I knew he meant well and truly believed he could protect me. But I suspected even Pierre didn't realize how deep the roots of the organization went.

I pulled my hand from him so that I could clasp both of mine together, biting down on the inside of my lip. I swallowed and then shook my head. "There is something else."

Pierre did not reply, instead gazing up at me expectantly.

"Your brother..." I paused, feeling the hurt I had tried so hard to bury under Pierre's kisses resurfacing. "Prince Jourdon... He is a part of them. A leader maybe, I am not sure."

Pierre did not reply for a long time, and I was unable to look at him, fighting to keep tears from spilling from my face, refusing to cry another time for Jourdon.

I waited for him to deny it. To tell me that it wasn't possible, that it couldn't be true. I hoped he could provide me with one piece of evidence that might clear Jourdon's name.

But he did no such thing. He shifted, drawing up to where I sat. The scent of his floral cologne encompassed us as he wrapped his arms around me tightly.

"Oh, you poor thing," he murmured softly. "I would love to tell you it isn't true, but I have also long suspected."

I let out a choked breath. How much of a fool had I been to not see Jourdon's vileness sooner?

I grasped his arm and turned into him, burying my face in his neck, taking in his smell. When had it become so comforting? Pierre stroked a hand down my back, rubbing it in soothing motions as he held me.

"Yes, I didn't want to believe it. I had hoped he and I might find happiness."

Pierre's hand movements grew still, and his arms around me stiff as he drew back to peer into my face.

"I'll make you happy now," he said softly. He leaned down to press a kiss to my lips and I smiled as he withdrew.

If I had been betrothed to him instead, things would have been different.

"But... how did you find out? Even as I have suspected, I have never found proof." His brows furrowed. "He...is very careful. No one involved with the cult calls him by name."

I looked down at my hands, clasping them in the rumpled folds of my dress. After a moment I looked back around the gardens, but we were still alone. I met Pierre's eyes.

"One of my handmaidens is a soldier. A skilled one." I paused to let my implication sink in. "They overheard some servants discussing a meeting and followed them from the palace. It was there that they were able to gather the information. They spoke of their leader being "the Prince," but I knew it couldn't be you... Only Jourdon fit. It was while he was still away, which explains why the he couldn't be present that night."

A breeze blew through the hedges, pushing my hair into my eyes. I brushed it away so I could see Pierre.  He was gazing at me, his features tight. A foreign emotion showed. Anger. I knew the emotion well. I ran my hands softly over his back. It was likely hard for him as well, even if he had suspected, to be faced with the proof.

After a long moment, he spoke, his voice deeper, darker. "You have a spy?"

I twisted my skirts, shivering in the sudden coolness. A cloud passed over the sun, muting everything in tones of grey.

"Yes. Though I was unaware of it until recently. My mother wanted to ensure my safety. I suspect she had reason to believe there were still factions of hatred within Garnette towards Rosailles. Though I hate to admit it, she was not wrong."

Pierre gazed at me darkly, but then seemed to catch himself. His gaze flickered over me, softening. "How foolish. For her to send you with a spy rather than your Gift? Someone with your power should not have to rely on others to begin with."

My eyes widened in surprise. "She has no access to the magic. None of us do, everyone knows that. Besides, if I did have access to it, I likely would not have been able to enter Garnette alive."

"Perhaps." Pierre's lips twisted, betraying the anger he was unable to hide beneath. It tore into me, reminding me of my own buried emotions.

"But does it not bother you? Sending you here, the perfect Rose." He reached out, caressing the side of my face. Then he withdrew it, his upper lip curling. "Dethorned, defenseless. A pretty thing to look at, a symbol of power, but nothing more. Like a swine dressed up for her own slaughter."

I drew back, looking up at Pierre imploringly. His jaw was set, its hard angles emphasized as he considered me.

"Is that all you think I am?" I asked, hurt leaking into my voice. "A pretty thing?"

The set of Pierre's mouth softened as he smirked. "Not at all, love. I think you are so much more. I think you deserve better. I think you are meant to use your power. None of this running away, it is unbecoming."

He leaned forward, his breath warm against me as he placed a finger under my chin to tilt it up. "Don't think I didn't notice. I saw it in your eyes when you came to me. You are running, but queen's do not run. And you are my queen now."

I pulled from his grasp, icy cold settling around me.

"What are you trying to say, Pierre?"

He smiled, but it was unlike his usual one. This smile was not carefree or suggestive. It was humorless, cutting a slash over his full lips. His eyes were intent on mine.

"Release your power," he whispered. "Then no one will be able to stop you. You won't have to be helpless anymore."

"You know that's not possible."

Pierre continued to stare at me intently. "How so?"

I sighed. Mother would kill me if she knew I was talking about this. Not that I cared much about what she thought now. "As we already discussed, it's locked away."

"But there has to be a way to unlock it."

I rose my hands, exasperated. "Of course, there is. But even if I intended to do such a reckless thing, I am all the way here in Garnette and Mother is hardly going to go and release it for me."

Pierre nodded, as if I had confirmed something. "As I expected, so only an heir can release it." He turned from me, his dark brows creasing.

I hesitated, realizing I had said too much.

Pierre took my hand. "It's simple. The Rose Crystal just needs to come to you. Perhaps your little spy could retrieve it."

I pulled my hand away from him and stood. Pierre gazed up at me from where he sat draped in his long coat, his shirt unbuttoned, the rest of his glittering garments discarded beside him. He frowned.

"What is it?"

I didn't meet his gaze. "I should head back."

Pierre smiled, but it didn't quite meet his eyes. "Oh, come on. Are you so eager to be rid of me already? I already told you I won't be able to see you tonight. Besides, our conversation was getting so interesting."

I stepped back. "I really should be going."

Pierre regarded me. I noticed then how cool his eyes could be. Sometimes they were bright glittering sapphires, but under the dull light of Garnette's sunless sky they appeared grey, like polished metal.

But then he brushed off his coat, flipping it around his shoulders, and started to button up his clothing. He stood, still barefoot, and pulled me to him.

"Forgive me, I just already miss you." He bent down and pulled me in for a kiss. He wrapped his arms warmly around me. "I won't see you again until the ball tomorrow night."

The reminder only added to my unease, and I broke the kiss, giving Pierre a thin smile.

"Tomorrow," I agreed, pulling away from him. The ball where I would have to pretend to be going through with this marriage. Tomorrow where I would be surrounded by people who wanted me dead.

For one brief instant, as I looked at Pierre, I considered what he had said. Releasing the Rose Crystal. I could almost feel the flutter in my veins, the magic I had never truly known answering my call. It was almost like it was there, hovering inside of me, just out of my grasp. I couldn't help but desire it. As I considered my Gift, whispers rose around us. Pierre tilted his head, sharing a secret smile. I froze, for a moment wondering if he could hear it.

As quickly as the though occured, I dismissed it. That was impossible.

To do as Pierre suggested was dangerous. It would ensure war. The Rose magic was never meant to wage peace.

Pierre reached out, smiling crookedly as he fixed one of my rose hair ornaments. Then he leaned forward, whispering in my ear, "And after the ball, I will make you mine again."

I shivered at the promise in his words and stepped away, leaving him to finish fixing his clothes. I always left first so we were not seen together.

And as I walked, our conversation played over and over in my head. His words, dark and seductive took root inside of me, as I considered something I never had before.

Me. With my power. A true Rose Queen.

But for some reason, all I could see was that image of the Great Queen Mother in the Vidame's book, my face taking the place of hers. Blood-red tears ran down my face and wings tore through my skin. Part human, part monster.

My magic meant power, but it came with a bloody price. One I wasn't sure I had the courage to pay.