Life as I knew it was simple (not really). I was the princess, my brother was the crown prince. I was not even second-in-line, her niece wore that title with pride. I held no position other than being a bargaining chip for a political marriage, which had been pre-decided far before I could even understand the concept. I was the useless princess who spent her days in the rose gardens of the castle, until I was not.

 

I was awoken by the maid early in the morning as I always was. It would make sense if I had anything to do, only I didn’t. The only occupation I had was being stuffed into ridiculously fancy dresses, not that I didn’t enjoy them, they were just not comfortable to wear for an entire day, sometimes even into the night during mother’s horrid balls and banquets. 

 

My mother, Queen Consort Adelheid, had married my father in a similar arrangement I had with my fiancé. She was the princess of another land, no longer needed in the line of succession, who had been promised to a young prince. Though my mother and I shared these traits, we had never been close. While I resented life as I knew it, she reveled in it. She would play the role of the dutiful, loyal, gorgeous Queen Consort with pride. 

 

As I walked across the palace corridors, nobody but the maid that had dressed me bothered to bow or even acknowledge my existence. I did not care; there was not much time left for me to spend in that castle anyway. 

 

The halls were decorated with gorgeous paintings of old kings and queens, commissioned from famously talented painters all around the world. There were embroidered vases and handmade sculptures from thousands of years old. I glanced longingly at them as I passed, my brother did not care much for art, yet these would all be his some day. I did not either but it was normal for a person to appreciate every detail in these pieces, yes? In the end, it was not important if I liked them or not. These walls were all I knew and still, I would have to leave them all behind soon.

 

I made my way to the gardens of the castle, borrowing a pair of worn-out gloves from the gardener’s shed. He was an older man, perhaps in his seventies named Tom, who was always way too nice with how much he let me use his supplies. 

 

I gathered everything I needed and headed up to the gardens, trying to maneuver my outrageously big dress away from the mud. My hair was let down, since my mother would never let me keep it up, I did my best to keep my hair out of my eyes as I worked. Nobody cared what I did as long as my hair was neat, my dress was fancy and my hands were clean. 

 

I loved roses not despite, but because of their thorns.in their violence I found my comfort. Amongst my rose garden, there were no brothers, parents or impending marriages. There was only me, myself and I. Along with my darling roses, of course. 

 

I liked to hum old ballads as I worked, ones that told tales of bravery and adventure. In those stories, princesses married their lovers, knights in perfectly shining armor. My fiancé was no knight. My father called my melodies peasant tales and condemned my singing whenever he heard me do it. It was not often, as I did not see him often, nevertheless I could never stop feeling the anger in his voice as I continued humming. 

 

The sun rose above the castle walls, painting the sky with oranges and yellows. I had never seen a sunrise or a sunset, despite waking up before dawn and retiring to rest way past dusk, the castle walls covered them. I had always dreamt of seeing them as a child. Now, as I sat next to those walls that went up and up into heaven, I reminisced of another childhood dream.

 

When I was a little girl, I had had ideas. Dreams on how to better our nation, how to rule. It had taken me a few years to realize no one would ever listen, not like they did to my brother. I had realized that I was invisible until I broke a rule. So, in my teenage years of rebellion, I had broken all of them in a desperate attempt to be seen, but that had not worked either. I had begun to dream of running away, of escaping these never ending walls. I would meet a mercenary, perhaps even a witch and adventure with them till the end of my days. 

 

Now as an adult, I know that no dream will ever become reality. 

 

I spent longer than normal working on my roses that day, until a maid found me at what must have been around six o’clock. I got up only to realize that my back was hurting terribly. I had been down in the gardens for twelve hours, I was terribly hungry. Normally, my sister-in-law, Lady Raina, would have fetched a maid to invite me to lunch with her, which consisted of being berated by both her and my mother. Whatever ball they had organized that day must have been terribly important to them, since they had forgotten all about me. I could not say I was disappointed. 

 

The maid led me up to my room, where I found an elegant dress waiting for me. It was a golden gown, which touched the ground, even with my heels. My hair was let loose on my shoulders, since I was unmarried. As always, my mother and Lady Raina were outshining me with their dresses. It was not something I particularly minded, but it brought them great pleasure. 

 

Queen Adelheid gripped my arm tightly, hissing into my ear the names of many great kings and queens from foreign lands who were arriving for her ball tonight, “Do not mess it up,”

 

I spent the entire night smiling on the sidelines. I loved to dance and yearned for it, however my father had made it clear long ago that dancing was for ladies looking for husbands or between married men and their wives. Unless the fiancé I had never met appeared and asked for my hand, I was not to dance. Though I did not particularly mind this that night due to the unbearable pain of my back from kneeling next to my darling roses all day. I hung around the ball long enough that my mother would be satisfied, then headed up to my chambers.

 

I was awoken in the middle of the night by my fathers second hand man and advisor, Sir Wright. This was an unusual sight, as Sir Wright was not a man of my blood, therefore not allowed in my bedroom. I scanned his familiar face with my sleep filled eyes, and tried not to appear too shocked as he bowed before me.

 

“Your majesty,” he said, “Something awful has happened, you are awaited in the throne room.”

 

Your majesty? That was not my title, nor my brother’s or Lady Raina’s or my nieces’. It was my fathers’. Your majesty was reserved for the Ruling Monarch, the King

 

Or the Queen, my mind supplied. 

 

“Sir Wright,” I asked, my voice shaky, “What has happened to my father and brother?”

 

Sir Wright seemed to consider his words, before deciding to tell me everything, “There was an attack during the ball tonight. The King, Queen, Crown Prince, Lady Raina and Princess Alysa are dead, you are the Queen,”

 

I do not remember what happened next in detail. I must have screamed, before coming back to my senses and calling for a maid. I remember ordering Sir Wright out of the room as my maid desperately searched for a dress that was fit for mourning. 

 

They were dead, all of them. I did not know what to do.

 

My father and brother were meant to be kings, that was what they had trained for all their lives. The gods had given them names to reflect those futures. My mother’s name meant nobility, Raina meant queen. They could manage this, I could not. My name meant rose garden, I was destined for my roses, nothing more, nothing less.

 

I could not be queen? Could I?

 

I thought back to that young princess who had dreamed, perhaps I could not leave this castle and journey with mercenaries and witches but I still had ideas. The life I knew had changed so drastically in such a short time, nevertheless, I believed I could do it. 

 

Dressed in my black mourning dress, hair tied up for the first time, I left my room as I hummed a ballad between my lips. Everyone bowed. They bowed to me, Queen Rosalie, the Queen of Thorns.