Page 30 of Queen of Roses

CHAPTER 6

When I returned tomy room, I could tell someone else had been there. Not the servants who tidied it daily and cared for my clothing. Someone else.

I paused in the doorway, my head turning to and fro.

Then I saw it.

My mother’s picture had been moved from its usual place. Instead of hanging on the wall, it lay on the desk.

I crossed over to it quickly, panic rising.

The painting had been completely drenched in red ink.

I looked down at it, feeling sick inside. It was the only portrait I had of her. I knew there must be others and that Arthur must surely know where they were, but up until now I’ve been hesitant to ask him. The miniature was enough.

The ink had not even dried yet. I touched it gently with one finger. Perhaps, if I hurried, I could take it to be repaired. Perhaps the worst of the ink could be removed.

But in my heart, I knew it would never be the same.

There was no point in asking who would be so cruel as to enter my room and destroy my most treasured possession.

In fact, as I glanced at my bed, I realized my tormentor had gone one step farther than usual and even signed his name.

It was carved there on the headboard of my bed, in between the moon and stars. He must have used a sharp dagger and done it quickly for the letters were messy and jagged.

But I could still read them nevertheless.

Florian.

It was my fault. The door had a lock, but I rarely used the key because it would inconvenience the servants who needed regular access. That would have to change. Florian had snooped through my things before. Last year, he’d even destroyed some of my books and stolen clothes. But then for months he had left me alone and I’d been stupid enough to assume his torture was over.

But this... This had crossed a line. This time he’d gone too far.

I imagined lying in my bed knowing his name was just above my head and I felt sick.

Before I could think about it, I pulled my own dagger from its sheath and crossed over to my bed where I climbed up and began to scratch and stab away at those six unbearable letters.

When I’d made a worse mess of the headboard than he had, I stopped, breathing hard.

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