Painted Roses

Bustles and Branches

Rosalia opened her eyes, sat up and instantly decided that both decisions were a terrible idea and lay back down again, putting a hand over her eyes.

Where was she?

She had seen a dark ceiling and a dim room in the seconds before she'd realised that sitting up after a carriage accident was an awful idea.

Opening her eyes again, but this time behind her hand so the torchlight in the room she lay in didn't bother her, she took a moment to analyse the actual feeling of her body.

All in all, she was willing to bet she wasn't as hurt as she should have been. She knew she had some type of head injury - she vaguely remembered feeling and smelling blood around her face. She was most certainly bruised and probably scraped up but she couldn't feel any broken bones or any severe pain to indicate internal damage.

Which meant she should be able to move around.

Which meant she had a choice, did she get up and see what could be done about her situation, or hyperventilate and give into the hysteria she could feel bubbling in her chest?

Sit up and see what could be done about her situation.

There was no man to be delicate and fey around so there was no reason to be act as such, as Antoinette would say.

What she needed to do was figure out where she was, where the castle and the village were, which was closest and how to get to either.

How long had she been asleep? Had it been long enough for those at the castle to know something had happened or were they still waiting? Did Beldon know? He wouldn't get back to the castle until the evening and that was assuming something didn't hold him up back in town - he wouldn't leave until Luka was ready to leave and Luka might be delayed with the royal family.

That was unimportant at that moment however, she just needed to get up and start moving.

She had been in a room after all.

First: discover who had put her in the room. They would know where she was and hopefully know how to get where she wanted to go.

Slowly, very slowly, she tried sitting up again.

The second attempt was much more successful. Lowering her hand, she looked around, squinting into the gloom of her room.

It was an empty room.

Old, dusty, uncared for - so uncared for that roots and weeds were starting to push their way in through the walls and floor.

It reminded her of one of the old outbuildings of the cottage she had lived briefly in some years before when her family had experienced finical difficulties.

The windows were either clouded over with dirt or - in the case of one - had a huge tree branch jammed through it. Even in their filthy state though, she knew it was night time outside, which meant Beldon had to know she was missing.

There wasn't even a blanket between her and the floor.

Her brows furrowed as she looked around.

Well now, either her rescuer had superbly poor hosting skills... or they weren't quite the rescuer she had envisioned. Did highway men operate in this area or the country? She hadn't heard of them being in the area but that didn't mean some didn't move in.

Perhaps illegal hunters? Or smugglers - there was a few routes that led to the coast from here.

Rosalia planted a hand on the damp crumbling wall and shoved herself to her feet, looking down at her gown.