Page 49 of Where Shadows Bloom

Outside, the king guided me down lanes of hedgerows, past groves of tall trees, beautiful rose gardens, statues, and ponds. The sun glowed warm against my face.

“I knew you would love these gardens like I do,” said the king, squeezing my arm. “I am kept inside all day with dozens of meetings and tasks, but I cannot go a day without a walk outdoors.”

We passed the bosquet dedicated to the god of life, and it was like a cloud of orange blossom perfume had floated by. I smiled dreamily.

“I used to spend hours in our library reading about Le Château,” I said. “I would wish upon stars and eyelashes anddandelions that I would someday walk these allées.”

The king chuckled and pressed a light kiss to the top of my hair. “And you, my love, aremydream come true.”

As we strolled past the bosquets to the gods, I remembered Lope’s charge to me, to seek out more information about the king and about this palace. I squeezed his arm and pointed to the bosquet that was fenced off—the one with nothing but a marble rotunda and a door within. “What is that area for, Father?”

Though I tried to stop, he continued our walk, batting a hand in the direction of the bosquet. “Just a place I go to gather my thoughts now and again. It’s being redecorated. Someday it’ll be pretty enough for you to visit.”

We walked deeper into the labyrinth. In the back of my mind, I thought of Lope’s observation. That birds did not sing in these gardens. I strained to hear birdsong. Instead, I heard music. Flutes, violins, a harpsichord, tambourines, coming somewhere from this garden.

“An orchestra in the garden,” I murmured. “It’s like something out of a fairy tale!”

“It’s more than an orchestra, in fact.”

We turned one more corner, and before us, a great group of courtiers was gathered in an area I hadn’t yet seen—an oblong room, like a concert hall. And like some kind of theater, seats wrapped all around the space. The seats, however, were covered in plants, emerald green, like cushions of leaves instead of velvet.

Farther back, behind the nobles, was a vast wall of waterfalls, cascading over golden sculptures and real seashells. At the very top of this display, a man holding a staff conducted a group of musicians, each clad in gold as if to blend in to the display.

“Welcome to the ballroom,” said the king with a proud grin.

My eyes went wide. “You mean we can dance? Out here?”

He gestured to a red-and-white marble floor laid in the gravel before us. “As much as you like. There is also a feast for you to sample and a great many young people who would like very much to know you better.” He squeezed my hand with a bright smile. “You’re the most sought-after girl in this court. Two young men have already asked me for your hand.”

A wound in my heart pulsed. I could see a hand in mine, a hand that bore a ring and a promise and a future together. The white scars along her arm. The ink stains on her forefinger.

“I—I am not considering marriage just now,” I admitted softly. That role of a lifelong companion was quite occupied, and I hoped it would only bloom and grow.

“Don’t give it another thought.” He nudged my chin, tipping my head so I’d look him in the eyes. His eyes, just like mine, crinkled up into a smile. “Enjoy yourself. This is all for you.”

I curtsied in thanks. He patted my arm once more andturned to stroll past courtiers standing by little tables, each of them bowing as he passed.

Something Lope had said filtered back through.Six shadows, moving like they were alive.

My eyes flickered to the gravel below his feet.

Six silhouettes, each in a different direction like points on a compass.

If it was a blessing, it was never remarked upon. Courtiers always kept their gazes lowered respectfully, but I doubted they were counting the shadows at the feet of their king or wondering what they could mean.

Was it a warning? Or simply a strange trick of the light?

A new song began. Lords and ladies and dukes and duchesses alike gathered on the marble, standing in a line. When I joined them, they clapped delightedly.

At once, a girl with long golden hair bounded to my side, dropping into a deep curtsy. “Your Highness,” she said—though I had yet to be crowned—“could I have the pleasure of being your dance partner?”

“I suppose so,” I said, “but my mother did not teach me many dances, Señorita...?”

“Mademoiselle Madeleine des Hirondelles, Your Highness.”

The title felt so strange and ill fitting for me. I laughed awkwardly. “Can I call you Madeleine, and you call me Ofelia?”

She dipped into her deep curtsy again. “As you wish. And as for dancing, Your—Ofelia—you have a great teacher in me. Just pretend to be my mirror.”

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