White Roses a.b

chapter 51

The white rose tree was in full bloom. Ashley could see it from the castle chambers where she had been brought to make her final wedding preparations. Its flowers were like glowing white lanterns amid the green foliage of the gardens.

She couldn't take her eyes from it.

There was a coal burning in her chest. Her fury had grown since she'd seen the Sisters, since she'd accepted the King's proposal. Three days had been agony. She wanted it over. She wanted to be the Queen so the Sisters could fulfil their end of the agreement.

Raven was on her shoulder, his talons puncturing her skin through the fabric of her wedding gown. He had become her most constant companion, though they rarely spoke. He was the only one she had told about the deal she'd struck with the Three Sisters, and at first she had expected him to try and talk her out of it. Even when he didn't, it still took her a full day to realize he yearned for vengeance almost as much as she did.

Andy had been his friend, his comrade, his fellow Rook.

'Soon,' she breathed – to Raven, and to herself. 'Soon.'

Raven said nothing, just dug his talons deeper. She didn't flinch, though she did wonder if there would be spots of blood left on the white brocade.

Behind her, the door opened. 'Ash?' came Mary Ann's timid voice. 'I've come to fix your hair.'

Ash turned to her and nodded, before moving away from the window. She sat at the vanity.

Mary Ann waited a moment, as if expecting more of an invitation than that, before she sighed and padded across the carpet. Raven fluttered up the top of the vanity mirror.

Mary Ann worked in silence, pinning Ash's hair with expert fingers and working it through with pearls and red rosebuds.

'You don't have to do this.'

Ash met Mary Ann's gaze in the glass.

'The King will let you out of the arrangement if you ask,' the maid continued. 'Tell him you've changed your mind.'

'What then?' Ash asked. 'I could be the Marchioness of Mock Turtles. Die a spinster, all alone with my half-invisible cat?'

Mary Ann paced in front of her and leaned against the vanity. 'What about us? Our dream, our bakery?'

'My dream,' Ash snapped. 'It was my dream, and mine alone. It only became yours when a trickster hat fooled you into having an imagination.'

Mary Ann flinched. 'That isn't true. I always—'

'I haven't changed my mind.' Ashley stood, tugging her skirt into place. 'I am getting precisely what I want.'

'A false, loveless marriage?'

Ash sought out her reflection. The face in the mirror was that of a corpse, bloodless and indifferent. But her dress was breathtaking, for those who had breath to take – a full-skirted gown bedecked in lace and ribbon. Red roses were embroidered across the bodice.

She felt nothing at all when she looked at her wedding gown, or imagined herself on the throne, or lying in the King's bed, or some day watching their full suit of ten children race across the croquet lawns.

Her future existed like a barren desert with a single bright spot on the horizon. The one thing she wanted. The last thing in the world she craved.

Peter's head.

'Yes,' she said, without emotion. 'This is what I want.'

Mary Ann's shoulders fell and Ash could see her biting back what she wanted to say. Finally she slinked away from the vanity. 'The Marquess and Marchioness asked to see you before the ceremony. And . . . Ash? You haven't asked me to continue on as one of your maids here in the castle.'