Page 4 of Legacy of Roses

“I’m Dimitri, by the way,” he said instead.

“Rosalie,” she replied, and he smiled involuntarily. It was a fitting name given his first impression of her.

She misunderstood his expression however, her mouth twisting. “I know. I still don’t understand what my mother was thinking! It’s like shewantedto provoke the Legacy.”

A loud yawn prevented him from answering, drawing his eyes to the girl on the post. She straightened, regarding the two of them from half-lidded eyes.

“Who is this?” she asked.

“Dimitri,” Rosalie said promptly, as if she had known his name for years. “He’s from out of kingdom like you.”

Hearing his name on her lips sent a thrill through him, and in its wake, he felt the first stirring of unease. His mother had warned him countless times that Glandore and the other kingdoms were strange places full of deception and treachery. And even Rosalie herself kept uttering cryptic warnings about fantastical happenings.

Could he trust the instinct that had drawn him to Rosalie the moment he’d seen her? Or did the strength of that pull mean he should distrust it?

He shifted, uncomfortable with where his thoughts were leading. He didn’t want to view his new acquaintance with doubt and mistrust. But a charming rogue was of necessity charming and appealing—wasn’t she?

Not for the first time, he wished he had someone to advise him. But the remote mountain community that had been his home until recently was full of those who had fled the easier life of the kingdoms. They had each possessed a reason for leaving that made them reluctant to speak of their past homes. The mutual silence had been like an unspoken agreement between them—one that had frequently frustrated a youthful Dimitri. But his mother had hated mention of the kingdoms most of all, so there had been no point pressing her for answers.

When she had died, he had come into possession of her private papers. He had been curious, in an idle way. He certainly hadn’t expected to find a master key, the deed to a manor—and a whole host of further questions. But there had been no point seeking clarification from his neighbors—his mother would never have confided in them. And though they had offered assistance during her long illness and sympathy after her passing, no one had tried to stop him packing up and leaving. No one had even asked his destination, so they werestill in ignorance of the inheritance waiting for him. Not asking questions about each other’s business was a foundation of the mountain community.

Dimitri had been braced to find Glandore a dark place, but so far it seemed the opposite. From the beginning his steps had been lighter, as if his whole body weighed less in Glandore than it had in the mountains. And his fears about what he would find at the manor had so far proven unfounded. He had feared his arrival would instigate a property dispute over the manor’s true ownership, but instead he had found the building and grounds deserted.

His concern had then switched to the burden of how to restore the house and grounds. And yet every moment seemed to render the once derelict building more habitable rather than less. With the building in much better shape than he’d feared, he was left only with the reality of loneliness and isolation—a possibility that had barely formed in his mind when a young woman catapulted into his day, bringing more brightness than the cloudy sky.

It was a wonder he hadn’t been more suspicious from the beginning. Everything had been too easy so far. Had he already fallen prey to the enchantment his mother used to hint at? Was Rosalie luring him in for some fell purpose?

Daphne sidled up to Rosalie, lowering her voice although Dimitri could still clearly hear her words.

“He looks just like?—”

“Don’t talk nonsense.” Rosalie cut her off, her nose raised at a suspicious angle.

Whichever unknown person Daphne was referring to, Rosalie didn’t want to talk about him.

“He’s just a traveler who failed to sufficiently educate himself before entering Glandore,” she said. “I had to stop him just as he was about to pluck a rose!”

Given the severity of Rosalie’s earlier reaction, Dimitri expected a dramatic response from Daphne. But she merely raised her eyebrows before glancing at the lush garden and wincing.

Dimitri followed her gaze and frowned. Did the garden look even more abundant than it had an hour ago? He knew plants grew unnaturally well in Glandore, even out of season. But he hadn’t expected anything so impressive.

“Is this garden…special?” he asked, unsure how to phrase his question.

Rosalie rolled her eyes. “Now he catches on.” She slipped her arm through Daphne’s and nodded down the road. “You really shouldn’t travel any further into Glandore without properly educating yourself on our kingdom’s history. We can see you as far as the edge of Thebarton and give you directions from there into town. The record keeper’s office is on the central square.”

Dimitri wanted to ask what Glandore’s history had to do with anything, but Rosalie and Daphne immediately started walking, clearly expecting him to fall into step beside them.

He hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the manor. He should tell them he wasn’t a traveler—not anymore. He could even reassure them about his access to information. The large library inside the manor—complete with a history section—made a visit to the record keepers’ unnecessary.

But if he did that, he would have to farewell Rosalie and Daphne immediately.

Dimitri launched into motion, his long legs easily covering the small distance that had grown between them. When he caught up, he modified his stride to keep pace with Rosalie. Glancing down at her, he smiled at the air of suppressed energy that radiated from her. She might be on the shorter side, but he suspected it was only her reluctant friend that was slowing her down.

As they walked, his eyes caught on roses growing along the side of the road. Roses made sense in the garden of a manor house, but he was surprised to see wild ones along the verge of a remote country road. And when the first scattered homes came into view, their gardens were full of roses as well.

Apparently the people of this region really loved the flower. He couldn’t see a sign of any other kind of flower. Rosalie had mentioned roses several times as well. He frowned, trying to remember the roads he had passed on his journey from the mountains to the manor. He could vaguely remember seeing roses there too, but his mind had been too full—of grief over the past and tension over the future—to pay detailed attention to the plants he was passing.

“There seems to be a lot of roses.” He glanced sideways at Rosalie.

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