Azalea decided that these next few days were going to be very lonely ones for Mr. Hyette.
“You are all to entertain Mr. Hyette this afternoon,” said the King. “In the gardens.”
Slates clattered onto the floor.
Five minutes later, the girls stood at the open kitchen door, blinking in the brilliant overcast light. The smell of lilacs, roses, sweet peas, and honeysuckle mixed with the scent of crisp late summer leaves. None of them had been in the gardens for nine months, and the bright saturated greens, reds, and violets overwhelmed them. It reminded Azalea of Mother, beautiful and bright, thick with scents and excitement. And the King—he was like the palace behind them, all straights and grays, stiff and symmetrical and orderly.
“It’s really allowed?” said Flora, her eyes alight at the colors.
“Allowed allowed?” said Goldenrod.
“For the last time,” said the King, pushing them gently out the kitchen door and onto the path. “It is Royal Business! Go on. Get some color in your cheeks.”
The younger girls screeched and ran off into the bushes. Bramble, Clover, and the other girls rushed after and gathered them back, reminding them of Section Five—Rules in the Gardens. Vast and sprawling, the gardens were so big it took nearly an hour to walk all the way around them, and young ones could get lost if they wandered off the brick paths. Azalea made to follow after them, through the trellised walkway, but a strong hand took her and held her back. Mr. Hyette.
“I say,” he said, smiling his very white smile and pulling her a touch closer. “You don’t look half bad in the sunlight. It brings out a perky red in your hair.”
“Oh, honestly,” said Azalea, trying to tug her hand away gently. “Mr. Hyette, please.”
“You don’t find me handsome?”
“No.”
Mr. Hyette’s smile faded.
“Now see here,” he said. “You certainly have no right to be picky. Everyone knows the point of this silly riddle is to find the future King.”
“Well—so what?” said Azalea. She tried pulling her hand free again.
“So your father had to advertise for suitors. And after meeting your rambunctious family, I can see why. Your pretty sister is the only one worth my time. However, if you are nice to me these next few days, perhaps I’ll—”
“Mr. Hyette.”
Mr. Hyette released Azalea as though he had been shot. The King still stood in the kitchen doorway, giving Mr. Hyette a cold, icy look. Azalea gratefully ran to him.
“Mr. Hyette, go away,” said the King. “Azalea—a word.”
Mr. Hyette, petulant, stormed down the path. The King made to say something, and for the first time in Azalea’s life, he looked uncomfortable. He looked as though his insides had curled into an overspun thread, twisting on itself.
“Azalea,” he said finally, “as this charade progresses, you will tell me if you are…fond…of any of the gentlemen?”
Azalea stared at him, a hot blush rising to her cheeks.
“Nat—naturally,” she stammered.
The King’s internal thread visibly untwisted.
“Just so,” he said.
Azalea ran through the gardens, her black skirts billowing in the breeze of honeysuckle and lilac. She had forgotten how fresh and alive the gardens felt, with bright flowers bursting all over it like fireworks. Though a bit unkempt, with ivy growing over the path and moss clinging to the marble statues, it towered above her in a fine display of overgrown topiaries, thick trees, and flowered vines curling about the trellises. Shadows dappled her as she ran.
This riddle was an enigma, Azalea decided. And so was the King. She had thought, these past few days, that this R.B. was only a way to attract possible future kings. Like a ball, but allowed in mourning. Now, Azalea wondered, had the King contrived the game for her? Why would he be anxious if she was fond of a gentleman, before parliament decided?
And the gardens. Azalea hadn’t expected that to come from this riddle. Had he known how much they missed it? And eating dinner with him. That was decidedly odd. He never seemed to care about it before.
Azalea found the girls in the fountained section of the gardens, crowded with white statues and ponds rimmed with marble. Water burbled and gushed, and a small breeze blew a curtain of mist about, making bits of rainbows. The younger girls had taken off their boots and stockings—strictly not allowed, as the gardens were public—and dipped their toes in the mossy pools.
Sitting on the edge of a marble fountain, Azalea told them about what the King had said. A thoughtful silence followed, only the burbling water breaking it.
“You know,” said Eve, trying to pin a freshly picked flower into her dark hair, “I sometimes wonder if the King is, you know, clever. Not like us, of course. But clever in a quieter sort of way.”
Bramble dipped her fingers into a standing pool, sending ripples and bobbing the lilies. She looked more serious than Azalea had ever seen her.