Survival of the Rose

Deanna woke up to a knock on her door. Her first thought was that maybe Aeon would be on the other side, but she quickly dismissed the idea as silly.

She stood up and stretched. Her back was a little stiff, but she didn’t feel any pain anymore. She padded across the cold floor and opened the door. Mary, a scullery maid from the kitchen, stood there with a small covered platter in her hands.

“Good morning, Princess,” she said with a small smile. Deanna liked Mary. Most would call her a plain girl with red hair, brown eyes, and freckles all over her face. Deanna thought she was cute, especially when she smiled.

Mary was around the same age as Dillon. With a tragic past, she was orphaned at a young age and sent to work in the royal kitchens. Deanna often talked to her when she was hiding out from the queen in the kitchen, which was her second favorite place aside from the gardens. After the king died and the queen forced Deanna up into the tower, Mary volunteered to bring her breakfast each morning and her supper each evening. They would talk, and Mary would catch her up on gossip from around the castle.

“Good morning, Mary!” Deanna greeted, stepping aside to let her in. “What news have you brought for me today?” Mary walked into the room and set the platter of food on a small table in the corner of the room.

“Um, no news today, Princess,” Mary said quietly.

“No news?” Deanna questioned. That was strange. There was always new gossip to share. Mary would tell her about the smallest things. She never came to her without any news. Sometimes it felt as if Mary was Deanna’s only connection to the world outside the west tower.

“How can that be,” Deanna encouraged, “Berta is a wild one. You have nothing to even tell me about her?” Berta was the queen of the kitchens. She ruled everyone with an iron fist. Berta loved Mary like a daughter, but Mary often told stories of getting her backside tanned by Berta’s wooden spoon for her clumsiness.

“Nothing comes to mind,” Mary replied awkwardly. “Why don’t you eat your breakfast? Berta made your favorite this morning.” Mary uncovered the platter to show a delightful-looking breakfast of eggs, toast, and strawberries. It was indeed Deanna’s favorite breakfast, but she couldn’t get past Mary’s odd behavior.

“I am not yet hungry,” she replied. “Come here, Mary. Come brush my hair and tell me your stories like you usually do.” Deanna gently pulled Mary over to the vanity. She sat down on the bench and placed the brush in the girl’s quivering hands. She unbraided her hair, smiling up at Mary through the mirror. Mary often told Deanna that she loved brushing and combing her hair. It was thick and smooth, in stark contrast to Mary’s frizzy mess, as she called it.

“Well, Lucas stopped by to see Melody again yesterday,” Mary said as she started to brush Deanna’s hair, lured in by the calming activity.

“Really?!” Deanna gushed. “See, I knew you were holding back on me. What did Melody say?”

“She sent him away again,” Mary answered, shaking her head in disappointment.

Deanna sighed. “When is she going to realize that Lucas is a fine man with enough money to support her and whatever little ones they have? They are perfect for each other.”

“She is holding out for Samuel,” Mary replied. She seemed to be more relaxed now. Deanna was pleased.

“Samuel is no good. He tries to woo every woman he meets,” she said. “I’m surprised he hasn’t charmed his way into being the queen’s consort.” Mary’s face paled at the mention of the queen.

“Mary?” Deanna questioned as her friend’s hand stilled. “Mary, are you okay? You look unwell.” Deanna turned to face her. She seemed to tremble.

“Maybe you should sit,” Deanna suggested, but the words died in her throat when she noticed a dagger in Mary’s hand where there used to be the brush. Deanna briefly noticed the brush on the floor.

“Mary…” Deanna’s voice sounded strained.

“I am sorry, Princess,” Mary whispered. Tears rolled down her face.

“Sorry for what? Mary!” Deanna screamed as Mary suddenly brought the dagger down toward her. Deanna dived onto the floor, narrowly missing the blade. She scrambled to her feet to get to the door, but Mary tackled her to the ground, knocking over the bench in the process. Deanna screamed as Mary again tried to plunge the dagger into Deanna’s body. She caught Mary’s wrist and held it away. The blade gleamed in the light just inches from her face.

“Mary, get ahold of yourself!” Deanna yelled.

“I am sorry, Princess,” Mary wailed as she pushed the dagger closer and closer to Deanna’s neck. “I have to do this. I have no choice!”

“Why,” Deanna asked, “Who is making you do this?” Mary just wept over Deanna as she brought the dagger down, sure to be a deadly blow. Fat tears landed on Deanna’s face. Suddenly the door was thrown open, and Mary was tackled to the ground. Deanna sat up to see Aeon pinning Mary to the ground. Mary screamed in fright and struggled against his hold.

“Please do not hurt her,” Deanna begged. Prince Maxim knelt down next to Deanna.

“Are you okay, Princess?” he asked her. Deanna nodded. Guards entered the room. Prince Maxim explained that they heard screaming and when they came to investigate they saw Mary over her with the dagger. The guards dragged Mary off. Her body had gone slack and she cried as they took her. Mary was her friend. Someone forced her to do this.

“Why was she trying to kill you?” Prince Maxim asked.

“She did not mean it,” Deanna sighed, now sitting on her bed staring at the uneaten breakfast Mary had brought her.

“She sure looked like she meant it to me,” Aeon scoffed. Deanna shot him a glare. He met her gaze with a sympathetic one.

“If you will excuse me,” Deanna said, “I am not yet dressed so I would ask you to please leave.” Maxim looked at her a little surprised but gave a quick nod before leaving, followed by Aeon who gave her one last worried look before closing the door behind him.

“Dillon!” Deanna said, surprised to see him at her door later that day.

“I heard you were attacked,” Dillon said as he entered her room, surveying it as if to see the remains of a deadly brawl. He saw none.

“Yes, how does Mary fair, my attacker,” Deanna demanded. She had been sick with worry all day but she had been confined to her room.

“How does she fair?” Dillon repeated in disgust. “She is to be put to death for the attempted assassination of a member of the royal family of course. The execution will happen at sunrise tomorrow.”

“No!” Deanna cried. It was only the queen who could issue an execution. As upsetting as the news was, Deanna found it ironic that in this instance the queen considered her a member of the royal family. But Mary did not deserve this. It was clear that she was only a loose thread in need of cutting.

“Why does this upset you,” Dillon asked, confused. Deanna worried her lip, wondering if she should be honest and tell him that it was his own mother who ordered Mary to attack her. The rest of her siblings did not have the same relationship with the queen as she did. The queen cherished her children as much as any other mother. Lilia and Trina often still hid behind her skirts when they were frightened while she smiled softly at them and patted their heads. Dillon often showed off his training to her while she cheered him on happily. She showered Helena with gifts and affection and praised Lamont for his leadership skills. It was only Deanna the queen treated with disgust. Lamont and Helena were fully aware of this. While Lamont shared his mother’s distaste, Helena pitied her dear sister. Dillon noticed his mother’s hatred of Deanna, but he didn’t quite understand and felt foolish about asking. Trina was too young to know that her mother treated Deanna differently. Lilia, a very bright young girl, knew all too well how the queen hated Deanna. She would hide behind the curtains of Helena’s room way after her bedtime to listen to her older sisters while Helena tended to Deanna’s whippings from the queen.

“I believe it to be a misunderstanding,” Deanna lied.

“How,” Dillon questioned.

“Just trust me,” Deanna urged him.

“Alright,” Dillon agreed. “I’ll go tell Mother.”

“No!” Dillon froze with his hand on the door handle.

“You mustn’t do such a thing,” Deanna said, pulling her brother into a tight hug.

“Do not tell Mother about this talk,” she begged. “I beseech you, do not. I will take care of this matter. Promise me you’ll tell no one.” Dillon looked up at her. She was acting rather queer, but he agreed to keep quiet.

“Here,” Deanna went to her table and grabbed a letter. “Take this to Helena.” Dillon took it and nodded.

“Thank you, Brother,” she said, hugging him again.

“Anything for you, Deanna,” Dillon replied.

She patted his cheek and gave him a reassuring smile before he left. Deanna then sat before her window to watch the horizon. The sun was low in the sky. She knew she had to do something to help Mary. But what?