Painted Roses

The Princess and The Frog

"This is cruel, Anne, we shouldn't be doing this," Rosalia hissed later that same evening as she fixed her hair with the last of her costume. "Just leave him be." 

"Society's rules, Rose, he has no reason to miss the reception, we are all expected to go."

"Then say he's ill. What if Luka still goes? How can you force them to be in the same room after earlier?"

"See it as practice for the future," Antoinette said and Rosalia spun around in her seat, staring at her eldest sister. Even Marie-Fey, who was slipping her feet into her dancing slippers, glanced up, her eyes less than impressed from behind her silver mask. "Bel will battle through, as he always does," Antoinette said simply in reply to her sisters' expressions, fixing her emerald mask in place.

Rosalia shook her head, looking away.

"You have your own concerns to think about, Rose. Your engagement for example. Mr. Cliffwood will be there I assume."

"I assume," Rosalia muttered.

She looked at her reflection, then closed her eyes. Her costume was her father's request – spurred on by Antoinette's ideas.

Finally, Antoinette had dressed Rosalia as a bride.

She wore a sweeping gown of cream, a flowing veil fixed into her hair and mask of gold. It was like she was telling the world before it was officially announced. Her father wasn't going to let her back out this time.

A knock at the door drew their attention and Antoinette called for Valentine to enter.

Only it wasn't Valentine.

Beldon opened the door and Antoinette sat down, hard.

Marie-Fey turned away and Rosalia turned to look back at him, her eyes widening.

Like his sisters, Beldon was dressed for a masquerade party. And his costume of choice was an officer's uniform, the uniform he would soon officially wear.

He was certainly dashing, with the crisp fabric and smart cap. Rosalia couldn't help but think how the ladies would love him this evening... and the whole notion sent a crack through her heart all over again.

"We're ready to leave," Beldon said, his voice calm and distant before he turned and walked out, no pausing to chat, no admiration of their costumes, no teasing comments about suitors.

His eyes were dead.

Rosalia turned on Antoinette but her sister held up a hand, stopping her.

"I cannot do anything, Rose," she muttered, picking up her purse, "I cannot change what has been decided. Unless Papa changes his mind... things will return to the way they should have been."

Rosalia shook her head, angry, standing up and collecting her purse before walking out, down the hall and into her own bedroom.

The Frog sat on the window seat, looking out at the moonlit gardens.

She sat down heavily beside him and he looked at her.

"Are you a bride?"

"I am," Rosalia said with a sigh.

"You make a beautiful bride," The Frog said, looking away.

"I was speaking to Luka today."

He looked up at her again.

"Do you miss your first bride?"

He looked at her in surprise. "You know about Genevieve?"

"He mentioned her."