Burning Roses

Chapter One: Rose Garden

Stone met hot skin as I hit the step, and it dug into the soft flesh of my toes. The garden's stairs were cold from the night, but it was what I had been looking for. Even so, I shivered as the breeze chilled the thin layer of sweat on my skin. I let the wind pet me, though, basking in the calming rush it gave me. I closed my eyes, listening to the hedges rustle and the flowers pat the ground.

I sucked in a deep breath as a flash of the nightmare returned. My eyes fluttered open. I blinked at the night surrounding me and tried to push back the stabs of fear with twinkling stars and moon-soaked roses. I wrapped my arms tight around me, nails biting into my shoulder; they were reminders of what was reality.

I stepped down the last of the steps. Pebbles and clumps of dirt stuck to my bare soles, but their pricks were more of a relief than an annoyance. Nightmares always filled my body with a numbing sort of pain. To feel something, anything, was grounding.

Leaves stroked my leg, and I jumped away from the touch. The flesh tingled, all too similar to the burning within my nightmare, or maybe I was still on edge. I bit my lip before turning at the break in the flower beds. A shimmer caught in the corner of my eye.

The moon's pale reflection was cast over the long glass windows of the greenhouse, and I was painted just below it.

A limp nightgown hung off my body, threatening to swallow me whole. The sheer material floated around my knees like a specter. Curls hid most of my face, springing around in a sleep-wild mess. Their rich wine color made my skin seem strikeling pale, though, and the purple rings under my eyes became painfully noticeable.

I didn't look much like a princess.

Lowering my eyes from the glass, I followed the sound of water toward the garden's reflection pool. Soft pink rose petals littered the path, freshly fallen from the thick bushes of the flower my country was famous for. The night chirped with various insects, and the wind still swirled through the bushes. Everything was still so alive.

I touched a finger to a rose, watching it dip under the weight of my finger. It was soft as it curled around my nail. Can I really be queen? I mused as I made the little flower bow. Even in such a sorry state as I am now?

Antiga was a country known for its natural beauty. A peaceful country that had been ruled by its diplomatic legacy and the women of the Rurneeld family for several generations. A country eager to see its princess crowned and sitting on the throne. Eager to pass the heavy weight to my shoulders in the near future.

I squeezed the rose's petals. It wilted under the sudden pressure, staining my index finger and thumb with its pale blood. Stars winked above me; they were the only witnesses to the chlorophyllic murder. I plucked the dead petal from the rest of the rose.

Water trickled through the silence as I stared at the oozing wound on the rose. How fitting, I thought as I moved closer to the reflection pool. I am a destroyer. How am I ever supposed to be queen when all I do is break?

I flopped down on the ground, curling up to the bushes. The path widened before me, wrapping around a wide rectangular pool glowing with starlight. Tucking me knees up, I leaned against the bush and stared at the soft, flowing water.

Maybe that is why I didn't seem to notice the footsteps. Unfamiliar fingers brushed my shoulder, and I jerked, looking behind me.

"Ah, the oh-so-elusive princess," cooed a bored voice. It matched the man it came from. Its deep baritone was as hard as his blue eyes and muscled body. I didn't need to see the spark of light off his badge to know he was one of the palace guards.

My time was up.

I turned back to look at the water. "I will return to my room shortly. You are dismissed," I whispered, not finding the familiar dominating façade I usually wore. I cleared my throat and tried to sit taller. It was important not to show weakness as a royal, I had found. People were always watching me, trying to figure out just who I was and how I would rule, especially those at the peace conferences being held in Antiga's palace. No one wanted to be partnered with a weak country.