Page 60 of Ash and Roses

So far, I have done three of those things.

My room in the tower is still uninhabitable after the monster tore it apart, so I moved my things down to the room I’d shared with Abby. There are other bedchambers, but none have a locking door as strong as this one. If I feel the change coming on, this is the best place for me.

I glance at myself in the mirror—just a glance, because my reflection hasn’t felt right for years—to ensure that I meet Tess’ criteria. I have a feeling she’ll take issue with my attire, but it’s not like I had a lot of options. I was nine during the last Frost Ball, so I can’t very well wear the same suit I wore then. The suit I wear now is a tad plain, and not anywhere near the expected white or ice blue colour code, but the fact that I’m taking part in this charade at all should be good enough.

My father wasn’t a wicked man, but when he lost my mother, he couldn’t stand to be reminded of her. First Frost was a holiday she decreed, and the Frost Ball was her favourite part of it. She loved music and dancing, so when she died, the music died with her. I didn’t share his sentiments, but I can’t say I’m much in the mood for celebrating, either.

A knock sounds on the door and it slides open before I can get there. “I hope you’re decent, because I’m coming in.”

Of course Tess would come looking for me. I wouldn’t be surprised if she thought I would find a window to climb through because she no doubt has eyes on the doors. “No, I wasn’t going to run. I was just about to head down.”

She looks me up and down and then shakes her head with an annoyed huff. “Not wearing that, you’re not.”

Here we go.“What’s wrong with it?”

“What isn’t wrong with it?” She pushes my arms away from my chest and tugs at the lapel. “Who wears brown to the Frost Ball? Are you trying to look like mud?”

I’m finding it impossible to think up a decent argument to use against this woman. She herself is done up in a simple yet refined off-white gown. Her shoulders are bare, but it only accentuates the string of pearls around her neck—a gift from my mother many years ago. I long to reach out and touch them, but I keep my hands firmly at my sides.

“Must I remind you that I’ve grown a fair bit since the last ball? I don’t think squeezing into my old formal wear would be appropriate.”

She smacks my arm, but her laugh softens the blow. “I had something else in mind.” She darts out of the room for just a moment before returning with a carefully folded linen draped over her extended arms. She places it on the bed so carefully, you’d think an infant slept inside. When she unfolds the fabric, I suck in a sharp breath.

The suit is perfect—or it would be, if not for one thing. The light grey colour resembling smoke and ash, accented by pops of clean white and soft blue, makes for a stunning option for the Frost Ball. My own attire pales in comparison. “I can’t wear this.” The words are out of my mouth before I’d even realized I’d spoken them.

“Someone should. He’d want you to have it.”

I touch the fabric and picture the last time I saw Evan wearing it. He’d been only a few years younger than I am now, and likely about my size. I could probably fit in it just fine, but he should be here to wear it himself. This suit would have passed to me when he’d outgrown it, but that’s just the thing. He never got the chance. Evan was the best person I knew. He was hard at times, but he cared about people. He was raised to be a king that would put his people first. Born to lead in every sense of the word, a man who only picked up his sword when he had to. It should be him here now.

“I know where your mind is,” Tess says, drawing my attention back to her. “You’ve done the best you could. Evan would be proud of you.”

With those words, a dam breaks inside me. The fierce snap of it sends me forward, my shaking arms on the bed the only thing keeping me upright. I feel a hesitant hand on my back, but she’s misreading this. “Tess.” Her name comes out like a bark, and I have to force my gaze to meet hers. “Thank you for not letting this place fall apart as I did.”

“Oh, my dear boy.” She grabs me and pulls me into her, enveloping me in the embrace I’ve so desperately needed. When was the last time someone held me like this? It was probably my own mother. Tess is the closest thing I have to that now. I hug her back, but she pulls away all too soon and wipes a tear from her cheek. “Enough stalling. Get changed and hurry downstairs.”

* * *

I take my time.

The music that had been missing from these halls for far too long plays freely now, filling the castle with long forgotten memories. When it first reached me, I’d been frozen in place. Captivated by the beauty and paralyzed by the fear that it instilled. For five gruelling years, I’d lived without hope. And now? I want to be able to give my people this joy every night. Abby was right when she called me an absent prince, and it has nothing to do with the days I spent away.

It shouldn’t have taken this long for music to return.

When I finally work up the nerve, I make my way to the ballroom. The room had long since fallen into disarray, but the sight before me now steals the very breath from my lungs. The light of a thousand candles illuminates every inch of the rectangular room, and there’s not a speck of dust in sight. Tables of food line the walls, as couples twirl around the central dance floor. They move with such grace that it seems impossible that fifteen years have passed since last they danced.

I’m not ready to cross the threshold into this new world of sparkling joy and undying hope, so I lean against it and watch. These are my people, and the smiles they wear fill me with an emotion I haven’t felt in so very long. What is that—pride?

I don’t belong here. Not anymore.

The invisible darkness that emanates from me threatens to extinguish each and every flickering flame. This suit may make me look like my brother, but I’ll never be like him. I haven’t yet been noticed. I could leave, slip out through a window and retreat to the forest.

I start to turn, but then I see her. Ruben spins her around the dance floor, the gold lining of her white gown sparkling in the candlelight as sun would sparkle upon snow. The front of her dress is beaded, and the half-sleeves are made of loose feathers of sheer fabric that must tickle her arms as she twirls. I don’t recognize this dress, and for the first time, I don’t care who it belonged to. It’s hers now, as is whatever’s left of my shrivelled, blackened heart.

For the first time, I realize how much she’s changed since she arrived. The frail, too-thin girl is gone, and in her place dances a woman. A strong, incredibly brave woman.

The song ends, and Ruben leaves her with a kiss on the hand. I expect Abby to retreat to a solitary alcove, but instead, she invites little Fern to share a dance with her. There’s no rhyme or reason to this dance—Fern is too young to have known music, never mind the Frost Ball—so she and Abby just spin. I can hear their laughter from here, and I would give anything to be the source of Abby’s smile.

Fuck. I would give everything I have to this woman.

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