Chapter Three: Poisoned Roses
The first thing I learned about revenge: it moves slowly.
Not like fire, fast and wild.
It moves like roots beneath the soil—quiet, twisting, inevitable.
And I had already begun to plant mine.
The palace gardens bloomed early that spring, a brilliant display of beauty masking thorns. I found myself there in the morning, Marella trailing behind as I walked through hedges and past marble fountains.
"My lady, shall I summon the court seamstress for your fitting? Prince Kael returns in three days," Marella said carefully.
I stopped in front of the red rose bush.
Kael's favorite flower.
How fitting that it bled so easily.
"Summon her," I said. "Let the Prince see a face he'll never forget."
By midday, the seamstress had her measuring tape and needles ready. I chose crimson silk, but had it trimmed in black velvet.
A queen in mourning.
Not for a life lost—but for the girl I once was.
That evening, a quiet knock came at my chamber door.
"Enter," I called, expecting Marella.
Instead, it was Caden Thorne.
He stepped inside with the confidence of someone who belonged—even though we both knew he didn't.
"I was told you requested increased patrols in the western wing," he said.
"I did."
"Any reason?"
I met his eyes, unblinking. "That wing houses council archives. Duke Alvan's private meetings happen there after dusk. He thinks no one notices."
His jaw tightened just slightly. "Are you accusing the Duke of something?"
"I don't accuse," I said. "I observe."
He studied me then, and I saw it: the flicker of respect.
And curiosity.
"You're not what I expected, Princess."
"Then perhaps you should raise your expectations."
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
I turned back to my desk. "Tell your men to patrol twice daily and to report only to me."
"You outrank me now?"
"No," I said, glancing over my shoulder. "But soon enough, I will."
He gave a quiet laugh, then nodded once and left.
I closed my journal once the door shut.
Inside were pages of notes: times, names, alliances.
It was almost complete.
Almost ready.
But before I could strike, I had to play the part they remembered.
The obedient princess.
The docile bride.
The girl who loved Kael Varyn.
Three days later, the trumpets sounded.
Kael had returned to court.
I stood at the top of the palace stairs as his procession rode in—banners flying, silver armor gleaming.
And there he was, atop a white horse like the hero he imagined himself to be.
Golden-haired. Smiling. Beautiful.
And completely rotten.
The crowd cheered.
He looked up—and our eyes met.
The smile faltered, just for a second.
I smiled back.
Let the serpent believe the rose is safe. Let him lean in close.
Because when he did...
I'd make sure the thorns drew blood.
To be Continued...