CHAPTER 75: THE FLOWER GHOST

Lorraine relaxed into the warmth of the bath as Emma gently massaged her scalp. Beside the tub, Sylvia sat in silence, methodically scrubbing her skin with a soft cloth.

There were no fresh bruises today. At least, none that looked severe. The few faint marks that lingered would fade by morning. Sylvia couldn’t tell if it was because the princess had asked the prince to be gentle... or if the prince had simply chosen to hold back.

Either way, she was grateful. As long as the princess remained safe, nothing else mattered.

She hadn’t dared to follow Lorraine into the tower last night. She’d stayed away for her own sanity. They’d remained there for a long while. Long enough for Sylvia to fear the worst.

But Lorraine hadn’t emerged broken. She looked... radiant. Rejuvenated. Like a woman who had found her balance. It seemed she had taken control of "it."

Good for her.

And yet, Sylvia’s heart clenched with unease. Would she still want to leave now? She was surprised, even relieved, when the princess said she wished to advance her departure.

There was still so much to do.

"Emma," Lorraine called, closing her eyes again as Emma’s fingers worked through her hair with the perfect pressure. The water was blissfully warm. For a fleeting moment, she felt like she loved her life.

"Shall I arrange your marriage with Cedric?"

"What?!" Emma jerked so hard, a few strands of Lorraine’s dull-gold hair came out in her fingers.

"Emma!" Sylvia scolded. "You’re eighteen already. Learn to contain yourself!"

But she understood now. The princess loved Emma, and she wasn’t planning to take her along. After Lorraine’s "death," no noblewoman would ever take Emma into service. And her family... they wouldn’t take her back, either.

So the princess was trying to secure her future. With the little authority she held, Lorraine could still arrange a marriage. And Cedric, the prince’s squire and soon-to-be knight, wasn’t a bad match. Besides, having Emma stationed near the prince had tactical value, too.

The princess had thought of everything.

"I’m sorry... I’m sorry..." Emma stammered, tearing up as she looked at the strands of hair in her hand. "I didn’t mean to hurt you..."

Lorraine reached up and took her hand with a smile. "It’s all right," she said gently. Emma looked like she’d just seen a ghost.

"You don’t want to marry Cedric?" she asked softly.

"No," Emma murmured, bowing her head. "I don’t want to marry a man who’s in love with someone else. Even if his love doesn’t succeed, I still won’t."

Lorraine’s smile widened faintly. That was... wise.

She was more mature than Lorraine had given her credit for. Perhaps even more mature than she herself had been at that age. Emma could see clearly where Lorraine had only seen through longing.

"All right," Lorraine said, patting her hand. "Then let me know when someone catches your eye."

She meant it. More than anything, she wanted Emma to be happy. To be safe. To be loved.

-----

Emma was feeding the doves again. A calm morning, fresh breeze, golden sun, chirping birds. But she wasn’t calm.

Because someone was messing with her head.

For days now, a single peony would appear beside her the moment she turned away. Always perfect. Always different in color. Today it was white—pure and delicate, like it belonged in a bridal bouquet or the opening scene of a tragic romance opera.

And the problem was: they didn’t even have peonies in the garden.

"Am I hallucinating? Am I haunted? Is this an extremely specific curse?" she muttered, spinning around sharply. She couldn’t find anyone. Again.

She narrowed her eyes at a particularly suspicious dove, just in case. That dove cooed and then fluttered away to a safe distance, thinking she was going to cook it.

Emma stomped her foot. Whoever was leaving her flowers was either stupidly stealthy or invisible. And Emma had had enough.

Today, I’ll catch the menace.

But before she could hide and stake out the area like a competent spy, she heard voices nearby. Two men. One of them... oh, she knew that voice.

Cedric. Loud, whiny, perpetually offended. Bleh!

The other voice was new. Calm. Deep. A little awkward, like someone who’d only ever spoken to horses before today.

She crept around the hedge, very sneakily, she thought, and peeked through the leaves.

Cedric was gripping someone by the collar inside the decorative labyrinth. Emma blinked.

The man being assaulted was Elias—Prince Leroy’s personal guard.

She knew him. Sort of. He was tall, quiet, and stationed around the mansion so often she’d mistaken him for furniture more than once. He never smiled. Never spoke. Just brooded at the door like a sullen gargoyle.

He was also, annoyingly, attractive. Like "he could be sculpted on a cathedral wall" attractive.

"Why are you sneaking flowers to her?" Cedric hissed, giving Elias a shake.

Wait. Wait.

HIM?!

Emma’s jaw dropped. Mr. Grunt-and-Stare was her flower ghost?

Elias didn’t look remotely sorry. Or emotional. Or anything. He just blinked slowly, as if Cedric had asked him why the sky was blue.

"Why can’t I?" Elias asked, his tone as flat as a dry pancake.

Cedric turned red. "You’ve never even talked to her!"

"I left flowers," Elias said. "That counts."

Emma’s mouth parted. What?!

"You think that’s wooing?" Cedric snapped. "You haven’t even smiled at her!"

"I thought about it," Elias said gravely. "Didn’t seem safe."

Cedric raised his hand. He dared to raise his hand to hit that tall, brooding, and attractive man with a head full of dark brown hair. Emma bolted out from the hedge like a lightning strike.

"Touch him and I’ll break your arm," she said sweetly.

Both men froze.

"Emma!" Cedric yelped, looking like he’d just been caught trying to drown a kitten.

Elias didn’t flinch. He just turned his head toward her and said, as if discussing the weather, "I meant to leave a yellow peony today. Couldn’t find it. I’ll leave a pink one tomorrow."

Emma stared at him. Then down at the white flower in her hand. Then back up at him.

He planned which flower he would leave her.

Her brain short-circuited.

Cedric, meanwhile, was puffing up like a disgruntled rooster. "Are you serious? You can’t seriously be flattered by this! He’s creepy!"

"Says the man assaulting people in a hedge maze," Emma muttered.

"I’m protecting you," Cedric snapped. "You can’t just accept weird flowers from silent creeps."

Emma tilted her head. "You don’t like me, Cedric."

"I don’t," he agreed. "But that doesn’t mean he can like you either!"

Emma blinked. "...Do you hear yourself?"