Snow came a week before Christmas, turning the gardens into a fairyland. Everything shimmered with white ice, each twig and stubborn leaf coated. All the statues had cakes of snow on their heads, and it topped the hedges and pergolas dripping with icy vines. The air had a new, fresh smell and the cold whipped the girls’ faces, leaving them rosy cheeked.
They spent the day playing snow games, sliding on the pond ice, and throwing snowballs at the latest gentleman, Baron Hubermann. He was a decent sort, but he stormed away the third time they knocked his hat off, and the girls gathered at the end of the gardens to watch the King, riding in the meadow.
“He’s a very fine rider, is he not?” said Delphinium as they peeked through the iron gate, watching the King canter on Dickens. He nodded at them as he galloped past. Each hoof fall left a great chunk of snow upturned.
“I think we should go in now,” said Azalea. “If you all help me set the table for dinner, we can look in the silver cabinet again for the sugar teeth.”
The girls let out a collective groan.
“I can’t believe you still care about that,” said Bramble.
Azalea was rankled. “He has Mr. Bradford’s watch!”
“So what?” said Bramble. “Mr. Bradford is rich. He can buy another one.”
Azalea kicked snow onto Bramble’s boot.
“Anyway,” said Bramble, good-naturedly scuffing the snow off. “I’ve been thinking. We only have a few more days to dance in the pavilion, before we can dance anywhere we like. So, what if, on our last night there, we just said, ‘Hulloa, Keeper, this has been ripping, thanks for the dances, we’ll keep our eyes open for the magic thing and the moment we find it we’ll nip on back. We know where to find you!’ I mean, that wouldn’t be bad, would it? I just don’t like the thought of him toddling about outside of the pavilion.”
“Exactly,” said Eve, bundled up so only her pink cheeks and spectacles showed. “If we did set him free, what would Keeper do? He can’t have any lands or manor anymore.”
“Keeper?” said Bramble. “Who cares about Keeper? What about us? If the King found out we’d been off dancing around someone like Keeper, he’d murder us. As far as we know, the King hasn’t been through that passage since he was a wee chit—if he ever was a wee chit, which I doubt—and I’d like it to stay that way.”
The King pulled up short at the gate, scattering snow. Dickens snorted and shook his mane.
“Come into the meadows, ladies,” he said. “You’re all crowded about so. It’s not against the rules; it’s royal property. Come along.”
The gate screeched with cold and rust as they opened it and moved into the bright blues and purples of dusky snow.
“Would any of you like a ride?” said the King.
The girls backed away.
“No, thank you!” squeaked Ivy.
“Definitely not!”
“I don’t think so.”
The King frowned at them, the younger girls clutching Azalea’s skirts and only just peeking out at Dickens, who pawed and sent great puffs into the air. The King sucked in his cheeks, gave a short nod, and urged Dickens into a gallop.
Moments later, as the girls breathed sighs of relief, the King turned Dickens about and streaked toward them. They cried out and backed against the stone wall. Leaning down from the saddle, the King reached out his arm, and whisked Hollyhock up as he galloped past. Hollyhock let out a brilliant scream.
Azalea gaped as the King pulled Hollyhock onto the saddle in front of him, keeping his arm tightly about her waist. Her screams turned to laughter. The King cantered around the meadow three times and pulled to a halt in front of the girls. Hollyhock slid from the horse, dizzy, but with a huge, delighted grin on her freckled face.
“We went so fast!” she said.
In a bustle of black skirts and scarves, the girls begged for a turn. The King obliged. He scooped each girl onto his saddle and galloped about the meadow. Eve, Delphinium, Ivy, and the twins each had a chance, clutching to Dickens’s mane as Dickens cantered beneath them. Jessamine clutched the King’s neck and buried her head in his waistcoat, only peeking out with one bright blue eye. Clover and Bramble even had a ride, but only, they insisted, because they held Kale and Lily, and the little ones should have a turn. Bramble grinned, albeit bashfully, as she slid off the horse, Kale in her arms.
“Miss Azalea,” said the King, holding his hand down to her.
“No, thank you,” said Azalea.
The King frowned, but pushed Dickens into a snow-churning gallop. Two seconds later, Dickens streaked toward her and the King leaned down, his arm out. Azalea hardly had a moment to realize what he was doing when she felt a thumpf!, and blues and whites whorled around her as her throat tried to jump out of her mouth, and the King hoisted her onto the saddle.
When the world stopped twisting around her, Azalea tried to slip out of the King’s grip and back onto solid ground.
“I don’t like riding!” she said.
“If you didn’t squirm so, you would like it better,” said the King. “Don’t dismount now! You’ll break your head!”
He galloped Dickens to the side, into the long blue shadows of the trees, pulled back, and dismounted. Azalea was left alone on the saddle, clutching Dickens’s mane.