Awaken - Sleeping Beauty Retold

Part 1

ONE

In King Erik's crowded cathedral, where countless courtiers jostled each other for a glimpse of their radiant new queen, Lady Margareta of Beacon Isle, Princess Rosamond stood alone.

Or as alone as a girl could be with some lady's elbow in her midsection and yet another baron's cape trying to sweep her veil from her head for the dozenth time that day. Rosamond wished she could have worn her hair uncovered, like Queen Margareta did, restrained only by a crown of roses.

Rosamond longed to be back outside in her own garden at home, far from this foreign kingdom, but her father, King Almos, insisted that a girl her age was old enough to be betrothed, so here she was, an unwilling guest at someone else's wedding, while she wore the gowns and veils her mother had insisted upon in order to tempt some royal younger son to ask for Rosamond's hand in marriage.

Contrary to her father's wishes, Rosamond intended to keep her hands to herself for some time yet. If she could only...

The herald bellowed something about presenting their respects to the new king and queen. Rosamond found herself swept along in a wave of silk-clad humanity as the courtiers hurried to kiss the king's arse. Well, officially his hand, but if he'd turned around and presented his backside, they wouldn't have hesitated.

After what felt like forever, finally the herald announced, "Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess Rosamond, daughter and heir of King Almos..."

Rosamond didn't wait for him to finish listing her father's various titles. Instead, she strode forward and bobbed a curtsey to the king and queen as two guardsmen brought forward her coronation gift for the couple – a pair of pink rosebushes that matched the shade of Rosamond's dress perfectly.

Behind her, she heard the hiss of malicious whispers from men who'd bowed so low their hats fell off and ladies who might as well have dropped to their knees when they'd curtsied. Rosamond lifted her head high, trying to ignore them.

To her surprise, both King Erik and Queen Margareta rose to offer Rosamond similar courtesies. As the queen straightened, she held out her hand to Rosamond, asking the girl to sit beside her.

Anything to get her out of the crush of bodies. Rosamond took the chair beside the queen happily.

"Where did you manage to grow such a delicate shade of pink?" Queen Margareta asked her. "I had an extensive rose garden in the house where I grew up, but all our roses were white." She paused to nod in acknowledgement to some courtier and his family who prostrated themselves face-down before the throne.

Rosamond tried not to laugh. "I am gifted with plants," she replied with no small amount of pride. "When I was born, my fairy godmothers blessed me with two talents – that of healing, and an affinity with plants. When my father heard of your wedding and coronation, he insisted that I bring you two of my finest roses as gifts. So here I am, and so are they."

"But how do you make them that colour pink?" Margareta asked.

"I asked them to make flowers the colour of my newest gown, so that I might wear them in my hair," Rosamond admitted. Her father's kingdom was not as rich as that of King Erik, which was richer still with the addition of Margareta's dowry of Beacon Isle, so Rosamond had fewer jewels than most of the courtiers present that day.

"So you are saying it is magic? That you can speak to plants, and they do your bidding?" Margareta said, looking intrigued. She removed her flower crown. "Here. Can you make these pink to match your gown, too?"

Rosamond took the wreath in her hands. The roses were wilting in the hot hall, poor things.

She had never tried to change the colour of cut roses, only those still attached to the bush, but she could not refuse the queen's request without at least attempting to fulfil it. Rosamond concentrated on the flowers, feeling the drying sap flow sluggishly through the stems as they valiantly tried to survive just a little longer.

There was no plant to talk to in the dying circlet. Sighing, Rosamond pricked her thumb on a thorn and sent a wave of healing into the twined flowers. The limp stems she touched stiffened once more, as waterfalls of wilting petals turned into perfect double crowns. Within moments, the queen's coronet looked as fresh as if had just been picked from the bush, ready formed, but they were no pinker than before. These were as white as the moon.

"Oh, you have made them so beautiful!" Queen Margareta exclaimed in delight. "But I would so love them to be pink."

Swaying in her seat, Rosamond concentrated harder on the flowers. Now they were healed, they should do her bidding. They should...blush, just as the queen commanded. Blush as prettily as a maid surprised as she bathed. So they would be pink as...as...

Rosamond fainted before she could finish that thought.