10 years later

  Estelle woke to the pale morning light filtering through her curtains. She was left only one dress for her today—a simple pale blue gown, worn at the edges. She dressed in silence, her fingers working mechanically through the familiar motions.

  As she walked down the corridor, clusters of maids whispered behind their hands.

  "The illegitimate princess..."

  "Can you believe she still shows her face?"

  "Just like her mother, that one."

  Their snickers followed her like shadows, but Estelle kept walking, a straight gaze on her face. Estelle's expression didn't change. As if they didn't exist.

  The greenhouse was her sanctuary. Among the roses and lilies, she made her way to a single pink rose, the last of its kind in the garden.

  Her hand trembled as she touched its petals.

  "This is my favorite flower, Estelle."

  The memory was so vivid—a woman's gentle voice, her silver hair cascading over her shoulders as she knelt beside young Estelle in this very greenhouse.

  "Why, Mama?"

  "Because it's the same color as your hair, my dear." Her mother had laughed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I love you."

  "I love you too, Mama."

  Estelle's eyes burned. She blinked the feeling away and carefully watered the rose.

  ***

  In the brightest room in the mansion Princess Francesca adjusted her blue gown for the third time, her hands shaking with excitement.

  "Are you ready?" her lady-in-waiting Clara asked. "Duke Verne will arrive any moment!"

  "Do I look perfect? I discovered his favorite color is blue—that's why I chose this dress."

  "You look stunning, Princess. Quickly now—I hear his carriage!"

  Francesca rushed to the entrance, her heart pounding. When Duke Verne stepped down from his carriage, she nearly gasped. The rumors hadn't done him justice. Blonde hair caught the sunlight, and his green eyes were sharp and intelligent. Handsome and refined—everything she'd dreamed of.

  "Good morning, Duke Verne." She curtsied with practiced grace.

  "Good morning, Princess." His bow was polite.

  They walked through the palace gardens together. Francesca gestured at the flowering beds, desperately searching for conversation. "The gardens are quite beautiful, aren't they? They must have taken years to cultivate."

  "Indeed." The Duke's gaze wandered over the flowers. "Someone clearly tends them with great care."

  Francesca had no idea who that might be. She smiled anyway. "Yes, we spare no expense."

  A painful silence stretched between them. Finally, Francesca gathered her courage. "Duke Verne... have you given thought to... that is, have you found an arranged partner yet?"

  "No, Princess. I have not yet—"

  He stopped mid-sentence.

  Through the glass walls of the greenhouse, a figure moved among the flowers. A young woman in a pale blue dress knelt beside the roses, her movements gentle and reverent. Even from this distance, there was something achingly lonely about her.

  "Who is that?" The Duke's voice had changed, softened somehow.

  Francesca's smile tightened into something painful. "That's my half-sister. You needn't concern yourself with her."

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  "She seems quite dedicated to the flowers."

  "Duke, please." Francesca's voice grew sharp. "She's not truly family. Her mother was... well, it's best not to associate with her."

  The Duke turned to look at Francesca, and she couldn't read his expression. "Regardless of her birth, she is your sister. Family shouldn't be cast aside so easily." He paused. "Princess Francesca, would you do me a kindness? I'd like to know what flowers she prefers."

  Francesca felt something cold settle in her chest. "Of... of course. I'll ask her immediately."

  The Duke bowed and departed, leaving Francesca standing alone in the garden path, her hands clenched into fists.

  "Sister!"

  Estelle looked up. Her expression was blank. Bored, even.

  Francesca stood in the greenhouse doorway, her beautiful face twisted with rage.

  "What are you doing here?"

  "Watering—" Estelle looked back at the roses

  "Don't lie to me!" Francesca's voice rose to a shriek. "I told you to stay in your room this morning! You knew I was meeting Duke Verne today, and you deliberately wore blue—the same color as my dress—just to catch his attention!"

  "I only have one dress." Estelle's voice was flat. Matter-of-fact. I'm not that cunning as to do something so elaborate—"

  "Ha Acting innocent while seducing men who don't belong to you!"

  Estelle continued watering.

  "You're just like your whore of a mother!" The words cracked through the greenhouse like a whip.

  Estelle paused.

  She dropped her watering can and stood . Her voice came out quiet. Dangerous. "Don't speak about my mother."

  Francesca's eyes widened. Then narrowed.

  "Finally so you're not just an empty head, you have claws." She smiled. "Good."

  Her gaze fell on the pink roses.

  "And these disgusting flowers—I'm sick of seeing them!"

  Before Estelle could react, Francesca lunged forward and began stomping on the roses. Petals scattered like pink snow. Stems cracked beneath her heels.

  Her face fell

  "No!!" Estelle grabbed Francesca's arm, trying desperately to pull her away. "Stop!"

  Francesca wrenched free and stumbled backward. She hit the ground hard.

  Then immediately began to wail.

  "Help! Someone help me! She's attacking me!"

  Maids flooded into the greenhouse within seconds, as if they'd been waiting just outside. Their accusing eyes fixed on Estelle like daggers.

  Estelle knelt among the ruined roses, her mother's flowers crushed and broken. She gathered the petals with shaking hands, her face distraught.

  "Mother....."

  ***

  The throne room felt cavernous and cold. Estelle stood before the Queen—her stepmother—with her head bowed, still clutching broken rose petals in her trembling hands.

  "How dare you lay hands on your sister!"

  The Queen's voice echoed off the marble walls. Francesca stood beside her mother's throne, her arm carefully bandaged, her expression the perfect picture of wounded innocence.

  "she destroyed my mother's roses—"

  "Silence!" The Queen's voice cut through her explanation like a blade. "This maid witnessed everything. She saw you push Francesca to the ground."

  The maid standing beside the throne nodded, her eyes carefully avoiding Estelle's face.

  "Look at your sister's arm—it's bleeding! This is an embarrassment to the royal family. You already bear the stain of your mother's disgrace, and now you add violence to your sins?"

  Estelle's voice came out broken. "I didn't mean—"

  "Apologize. Now."

  "What?" Estelle's eyes widened

  "I said A-P-O-L-O-G-I-Z-E" the empress snarled.

  "Ha- I'm... I'm sorry."

  "To whom?"

  Her voice was barely a whisper. "Sister... I'm sorry,."

  Francesca lifted her tear-stained face, and for just a moment, Estelle saw the triumph in her eyes.

  The Queen's expression remained ice-cold. "You will remain in your chambers until I decide your punishment. And you will never approach the Duke. Do you understand?"

  Estelle nodded, unable to speak past the grief choking her throat.

  ***

  Estelle's room was small. Sparse. A bed, a desk, a narrow window.

  A cat slipped through the window—the stray she'd been feeding for months. It rubbed against her hand.

  She stroked its fur. Once. Twice.

  Then her eyes fell on the letter. Elizabeth's handwriting.

  She unfolded it carefully

  My dearest Estelle,

  The North is beautiful beyond words! The marketplace—I wish you could see it. I must confess, I had a frightening moment when a runaway cart nearly struck me. But a knight came to my rescue. Estelle, he had the most beautiful golden eyes. I cannot stop thinking of him. I dream of meeting him again.

  I've found a gift for you, but it's a secret until I return. I miss you terribly. I count the days until I can see you again.

  All my love, Elizabeth

  Estelle tucked the letter away with the many others. Her youngest sister.

  Another memory surfaced

  A little girl in torn, dirty clothes standing at the palace doors, thin and shaking. Francesca had looked at her with disgust, but the other girl Elizabeth had run forward with joy in her eyes.

  "Another sister! I'm so happy!" Elizabeth had grabbed both of Estelle's small hands in hers, her smile radiant and genuine. "We'll be best friends, won't we?"

  Estelle had been too stunned. She'd only managed to nod.

  That was twelve years ago. Elizabeth was the only reason Estelle hadn't completely broken under the weight of her isolation.

  But Elizabeth was in the North.

  And Estelle was here. Alone.

  In her hand she held the last rose she managed to save, while the others crushed under Francesca's heels while the maids watched and smiled.

  The Queen's cold voice: You already bear your mother's shame.

  She clutched the letter to her chest.

  Outside her window, the last light of day faded into darkness.

  Tomorrow would bring more of the same—more whispers, more cruelty, more loneliness.

  Estelle had learned not to hope for better.

  Hope was a luxury she couldn't afford.

  End of Chapter 2