His Golden Rose

“Rosamund?!” he blurted out.

To say he was surprised was an understatement. What could she be doing there at that time of the night? Was everything all right back home?

Rosamund could see concern flash on his face, and she hurriedly said, “Everything is fine. I just…” She lowered her gaze. “I brought you something as a thank you for what you did for me earlier today.”

He smiled at her shy mannerisms. But it was dark. It was improper for a lady to be outside at that time of the day—or night, whatever one would call it. What if something bad happened to her?

The brief silence made Rosamund even more nervous. “I apologize for my intrusion,” she said with a tinge of hurt.

She was about to turn around when she felt a slight heaviness on her basket. She glanced at the pressured area and found his hands holding both sides of the basket.

“I’m happy to see you, Rosamund. I’m just concerned. You shouldn’t be walking around at this hour of the night. It’s not safe, especially for you,” he explained softly.

She nodded, her gaze still focused on his hands on her basket.

He did have a point—what was she thinking? They’d just met! Showing up unannounced at a time like that was indeed improper. He wouldn’t understand her reasons because he didn’t know her better yet.

“Please take this, and I’ll be on my way.”

“I’m not letting you go on your own,” he said softly as he took the basket from her hands. “Please, come in.” He took a step back then moved aside to give her room.

She looked up and pressed her lips into a thin line. She blinked a few times as she tried to figure him out.

“Please, you’ve stood there long enough,” Max said.

And with that, she finally nodded and took a couple of steps forward. As Rosamund ambled in, her eyes danced around, taking in everything while he closed the door behind them.

Max hurriedly moved from the door and strolled past her toward the table in the middle of the room.

Rosamund’s eyes dismissed her surroundings and immediately followed him to the table. She watched him open the still steaming bowl and studied the surprise on his face.

His lips parted slightly while he fixed his eyes on the pottage. Right then, his stomach rumbled audibly, making him realize how hungry he really was.

He hadn’t had the pleasure of eating a proper meal for quite some time, and he was so sick of bread and cheese he ate daily because he couldn’t cook.

“I made that with my sister today. I guess a hungry person shouldn’t be given the pleasure to cook,” she uttered.

“Why?” He jerked his head toward her.

She shrugged. “They end up cooking a lot more than what their hungry bellies can truly take.”

He smiled brightly.

“So I thought, why waste it when there is someone I know who lives nearby?”

“Thank you.” He bowed gently.

She nodded and moved slowly toward the table. When she halted before him, he beckoned her to sit before he made himself comfortable across from her.

“I like berries.” He smiled as he removed the bowl from the basket and set it on the table.

“That’s a relief.” She eyed the berries and apples that remained in the basket. “Those are some of my favorites.”

“Is that so? What else do you like?” he inquired as he started helping himself.

“Sour oranges, watermelons, and um…” She paused with a playful, thoughtful expression. “Sweet-sour mangoes.”

He chuckled. “Sour oranges, sweet-sour mangoes—why? Why sour?”

She shrugged. “I just like it that way. Sweet fruits bore me. They taste weird.”

He nodded. Reminds me of my mother, he thought.

“Who did you leave your sister with?”

“Our father,” she murmured.

He raised his brow. “And he let you go at this time of the night?”

She looked at her palms resting on her thighs. “They’re asleep.”

A brief moment of uncomfortable silence passed before he spoke again. “Please don’t take this in the wrong way: I truly am happy to see you, but I won’t appreciate you getting in trouble because of me.”

“I understand.” She lifted her face to capture his gaze. “Don’t worry. I just wanted someone to talk to, and I wanted to properly thank you. We might not cross paths for weeks and—”

“I don’t think so,” he interrupted with his eyes still locked on hers.

She blinked.

“I don’t think I can go that long without seeing you again,” he disclosed.

A slight pink tinge formed on her cheeks as she tore her gaze from him. She lowered her eyes to her fidgeting hands under the table.

He cleared his throat. “I mean, I don’t have friends… You’re the only one I know around here, so I-I think…”

Damn it, what should I say?

“It’s okay,” she whispered, meeting his gaze again with a smile. “I’d like that.”

There he was, captivated again by her innocent smiles. She simply took his breath away.

“You should eat,” she told him, and he obediently continued eating his dinner.

Rosamund watched him with a small smile. She occasionally fished a berry from the basket and slowly ate so that he wouldn’t feel uncomfortable being the only one eating.

A couple of minutes later, he sighed with satisfaction as he looked at the empty bowl in his hands. “That was really good!” he praised.

“I’m glad you liked it,” she beamed. She cast a look at the wall a couple of feet behind him and spotted some crockery. She rose from her seat and strode past him.

“Wh-where are you—” He paused when he saw her crouch down and lift one of the plates he’d bought earlier.

“It looks like you were very busy today,” she commented as she noticed a few unused things.

“A little,” he responded as he watched her come back to the table. She emptied her basket and placed the fruits on the plate while Max stared.

Once she was done, she took the now-empty bowl and placed it back into the basket.

“Can you leave it here? I’ll wash it and bring it back to you,” he muttered.

She shook her head. “There is no need for that.”

“Please, I insist.”

His hand found hers and she froze. She looked up and met his penetrating, silently pleading gaze.

The corner of her lip curved into a small ghost smile as she mentally noted to herself how she liked the feeling of his hand on hers.

“We only have three of these. If one goes missing, my father will notice,” she told him softly.

Her father?

Max noticed she never talked about her mother. He was curious, but he figured that’d be a subject for another time.

“Then take mine. We can exchange for the time being, until I return this.”

“No, really, it’s o—”

“Rosamund,” he interrupted as he lightly pressed her hand.

She sighed, slumping her shoulders in defeat. He smiled from ear to ear as he rose from his seat and went to fetch a bowl and spoon to replace those in her basket.

“There, now let’s take you home before your father stirs from his sleep,” Max said as he stood upright.

“Trust me, that’d be highly unlikely,” she commented.

He briefly studied her and sighed before turning around to lead them to the door.

The two made small talk—mostly about their schedules for the rest of the week—as they walked through the dark streets.

Before they knew it, they found themselves standing in front of Rosamund’s house.

The mere sight of it made all the terrible feelings she’d had earlier resurface, and she wasn’t fast enough to mask them when he turned to face her.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded as she tore her eyes from the door and met Max’s warm gaze. “Thank you for bringing me back home.”

“It’s my duty. No need to thank me. But I must thank you for the wonderful dinner.” He smiled, wishing he’d hold her hand again.

She mirrored his smile. She wished he’d stay so that they could talk much longer, but he had work first thing in the morning and the same applied to her. They both had to rest.

“Good night, Max.”

“Maximilian.” That’s what his mother used to call him, while everybody else shortened it.

She beamed. “Gute nacht, Maximilian.”

“Good night, lovely Rosamund.” His eyes sparkled as he spotted her blushing cheeks again.

And with that, she turned and started toward the door. He remained rooted, watching her open the door and walk into the house.

She paused briefly, waved at him, gave him a small smile, and closed the door, leaving him a few paces outside.

What a night!

To think he’d been barely keeping himself from coming to see her, and there he was. Perhaps what his mother once told him was true: wishes do come true.

And with that, he turned around and made his way back to his place.

One thing was for certain: it was going to be extremely hard to sleep through that wonderful night.

***

Days blurred together as Rosamund and Max continued to bond.

Max wanted to take it as slow as he could so that he could get to know the woman he fancied while Rosamund enjoyed his company all the way.

Whenever they were both free, they’d find small excuses to meet up. Either he’d ask her to accompany him hunting—a sport which she found herself enjoying—or she’d bring him food and fruits, much to his gratification.

Even though she couldn’t afford to prepare something fancy, to him her food was far more superior than the royal cuisine.

Days turned into weeks as love blossomed between them. It wasn’t hard, really, since it had happened on the very first day they’d met.

Time only made it certain for both of them as they grew pleased with every trait they observed in each other.

Once upon a beautiful afternoon at the lake, Rosamund and her little Anne sat near its clear shore on the soft green grass. The lake was monastery-quiet and lined with pine trees.

The grassy area where they sat was usually occupied by those who wanted to lie down, sit, or, in their case, spread freshly washed wet clothes to dry properly under the shining sun.

The sisters peacefully enjoyed the magical view of the clear silver-blue lake whilst they sighed from time to time with satisfaction at a whiff of the sweet aroma of flowers that were scattered all over the green field.

“I can never get tired of this,” Rosamund breathed.

Anne, who lay on her back, rested her head on her arms over the soft carpet of healthy green grass and hummed in agreement.

“I hope they dry soon,” Rosamund murmured as she tore her gaze from the glittering lake and glanced at their drying clothes.

“So that you sneak back to that man,” Anne said flatly.

Rosamund froze and stared wide-eyed at her younger sister. “Why, Anne!”

Anne rose to sit up and met her sister’s gaze. “What? Isn’t it true?”

Rosamund tore her gaze from her sister’s scrutinizing eyes and stared at the water ahead.

“There is nothing to hide from me, anyway. I may be a heavy sleeper, but the urge to pee is even stronger sometimes,” Anne informed her.

Realization hit Rosamund like a hundred-pound sledgehammer, causing her hands to come up to cover her gaping mouth.

Anne knew of her night trips! They weren’t daily, but they weren’t few either.

She’d taken advantage of their father’s drunken state and his inability to wake up until early dawn, but she’d forgotten that Anne would occasionally wake up for nature’s call every now and then, perhaps a few times a month.

“When?”

The girl only shrugged.

“Anne!”

She sighed. “Okay, a couple of times. Honestly, I wouldn’t have suspected anything if my bladder didn’t force me to get up. You always liked spending nights on that bench, but when I didn’t find you there, well…” She shrugged.

“First, I was afraid that something bad might have happened to you,” Anne continued. “I almost woke Dad up, but he scares me even more, so I had no option but to wait for it to light again so that he noticed it on his own.

“I was so afraid Rosamund, I cried in bed, praying that you’d come back. I couldn’t sleep. And then, a while later, I heard the door open and close, followed by your light footsteps.

“When I turned to peek, I saw you smiling brightly, blushing and giddy.” She giggled.

“Okay, stop.” Rosamund blushed.

“No, no, that’s not the best part!”

“ANNE!!”

“I saw you holding hands two days ago, and don’t get me started with how close you two were standing.”

Rosamund covered her face with both hands, hiding away her blushing face.

“Whoa! You truly are hopeless!” Anne commented.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Rosamund asked after a brief moment of silence.

“I am now. I hope you’re not doing anything wrong while you sneak out to meet him.”

Rosamund noticed the concern laced in her sister’s tone.

“No, not at all. We only eat dinner together and talk before he brings me back home. He doesn’t like it really, that I walk all alone at night, but he grew tired of warning me. I never listen.” Rosamund revealed.

“That’s unlike you,” Anne observed.

“I’m always a different person whenever I’m with him. It’s amazing!” she gushed.

Anne’s blue eyes dismissed her sister and looked forward. “So you were serious when you told me wealth didn’t matter after all.”

“I meant each and everything,” Rosamund assured her.

“But weren’t you the one who was crying, cursing our life situation?”

Rosamund nodded. “But I’ve learned to accept it. And I accept him just the way he is.”

“But how are we going to live? I mean, you can’t leave me with Vater, no?” Anne inquired with slight panic.

“We’ll figure something out.”

“Has he proposed? I mean, he’ll have to come and ask for your hand from our father, right?” Anne inquired.

“He hasn’t made an offer yet. We’re just…friends,” Rosamund explained.

“It didn’t seem so two nights ago.”

“Oh, ANNE!” Rosamund playfully scowled at her sister.

Anne giggled.

Rosamund shook her head and looked forward.

“Why don’t you just marry a wealthy man, Rosamund? I like Walter—he is so nice. That’d benefit all of us.”

“That’s not where my happiness lies, Anne. I know he likes to give you gifts. He’s using you to get to me.”

“Is that bad?”

Rosamund raised a brow.

“What? He doesn’t have any bad intentions. You’re always rude to him that’s why he co—”

“Stop it, Anne. I don’t want to hear it.” Rosamund whisper-shouted.

The girl sighed. “Okay, okay.” She rose to her feet and Rosamund turned to face her.

“Where are you going?”

“A small walk to clear my mind,” Anne muttered coldly.

“What’s wrong with you, Anne?” Rosamund frowned.

“Sometimes, I wish I was you. You’re lucky, but you simply choose not to see it. Our father adores you, and I?” she huffed.

“You have a shot at changing our lives for the better. It only takes saying yes to a worthy suitor, many who of course have been flocking your way.

“But no, you choose the poorest guy out there! Your happiness, your happiness; that’s selfish! How about me? You’ll leave me in the hands of a man who hates my very existence!

“Who knows? I’d either end up dead or his slave for the rest of my days!” Anne groused.

“That’s not true!” Rosamund whispered, her lips wide apart. Anne had never acted that way before.

“Isn’t it?” And with that, the girl turned and stomped away.

Rosamund silently stared at Anne’s retreating figure. A tightening of her throat made it hard for her to swallow down her sorrow.

***

“GET THAT FILTHY DEMON OUT OF MY SIGHT!” Her father had thundered. His eyes had been red with blazing rage and so much hatred toward the crying pinkish-blonde baby who had been crying on a beautifully carved wooden cradle.

A thirteen-year-old Rosamund, who had luckily been walking into the room, had run toward the crying Anne, hastily taken her in her arms, and gently rocked her to calm her down.

“GET HER TO FUCKING SHUT UP BEFORE I KILL HER MYSELF! WHY IS SHE EVEN HERE?! I DON’T WANT TO SEE THAT KILLER!!”

“Please, Father. Don’t harm her. I’ll calm her down right now,” Rosamund had whimpered before slipping out with her crying sister.

When she had walked into the kitchen, she’d managed to get some bread and hurriedly warmed up some milk before sitting at the furthest wall of the room.

She’d firmly held her fussing sister on her lap and proceeded to soak the bread in the warm milk in a bowl beside her. She’d fed her recovering sister, who’d retreated to sniffling after seeing she was finally going to be fed.

***

Rosamund’s lips trembled as a solemn tear trickled down her face.

Perhaps she’s right—I am truly selfish, she thought.