“Petunia wouldn’t have been able to resist a rose that bloomed in the wintertime,” Walter said quietly.

“We went to have a look, once the others had gone,” Johan put in. “We found the bush, but it was winter-dead just like everything else. And I will swear to there being yellow roses and green leaves all over it just a moment before.”

“We have to go find her,” Oliver managed. He started to turn his horse.

“No need,” Walter said, his voice kind. “We know precisely where she is. It’s getting her out that’s going to be the difficulty.”

“Where are the others?” Bishop Schelker asked. “Galen? Heinrich? The rest of the princesses?”

“As I said, they’re at the hunting lodge,” Karl said, adding a belated, “Your Grace. Except for the Russakan prince’s men. We were about to step in to help, but quick as a blink, those princesses had drawn pistols on the men, had them off their horses and tied to a tree!” He chuckled. “Now there was a sight!”

“A sight indeed,” Johan said uneasily. “The men disappeared that night, and not a footprint to be seen.”

“Are you sure?” Oliver couldn’t keep the strain from his voice.

“Sure as sure,” Johan said. “We’ve had every man available keeping a watch on the forest, and no one’s seen them or the old lady.”

“You mean the grand duchess?” Bishop Schelker raised his eyebrows. “Did she go with them to the hunting lodge?”

“No, Your Grace,” Johan said. “She stayed behind at the estate, and we’ve had a pair of men watching there as well. But they haven’t so much as glimpsed her passing a window since yesterday. The house has that look about it, you know? As though no one was at home.”

Bishop Schelker looked at Oliver and then Walter. “I say that we make for the hunting lodge with all possible haste.”

“I’m already there,” Oliver said.

He dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and sped down the path. He heard the others call out behind him, but he ignored them. He was sure that Karl and Johan and the others would have searched the rosebush and that entire area carefully enough; there was nothing to learn there. But he wanted to get to the hunting lodge, to find Prince Grigori and punch him in the nose for losing Petunia, and then to make certain that her sisters were all right.

And then he would find Petunia, and he would bring her home.

Dancer

My one consolation is that the princes are all very good dancers,” Orchid remarked to Petunia as they entered the ball.

“There is that,” Petunia agreed.

“I think it’s awful, and you’re both awful,” Pansy said shrilly.

Petunia tried to put her arm through Pansy’s, but Pansy shrugged her away and went to Lily’s side. She had always been Lily’s pet when she’d been small, and now that they were back in the Palace Under Stone, Petunia suspected that Pansy was returning a bit to that time in her mind. Pansy had never quite recovered from the Midnight Balls to begin with: she had always been plagued by night terrors, even before the dreams had begun. And Pansy had never liked dancing, so Petunia could hardly fault her for being upset now.

“There you are, my dove,” Kestilan said caressingly as he came to draw Petunia away from her sisters and into the figures of the dance that was just beginning.

Petunia gritted her teeth and took his hand and tried to ignore him as they danced. He refused to be ignored, however, lavishing her with praise and running through an apparently endless list of endearments until Petunia wanted to scream. All around her, the members of the court swirled in the steps of the dance, her sisters mingling among them, their princes by turn sullen or equally flirtatious. Petunia was not sure which was worse, and when Kestilan called her his “sugar lump,” she knew that she had had enough.

She yanked her hands out of Kestilan’s grip and stood still and straight in the middle of the worn marble floor. When the dancers around them had been forced to stop as well, lest they trample Petunia, and she saw even Rionin’s gaze on her from the dais, she raised her voice so that they could all hear her.

“I am not your sugar lump,” she said. “I am not your dove, your flower, your amour, your jewel, your sweetmeat, your pigeon, or your delight. I am here as a prisoner, as are my sisters. I will wear this awful gown and eat your terrible food and sleep in that cold bed, and I will dance when I am bid to dance. But I will not endure this grotesque attempt at seduction. Is that understood?”

“Is there a problem?” Rionin drawled from his throne. Then he summoned both Kestilan and Petunia to the dais with a look and a languid wave of one hand.

Petunia went willingly, but Kestilan scuffed along behind her like a young boy caught in some mischief. Rose abandoned her partner and followed, and so did Lily. Lily was dancing with some gaunt member of the court who looked relieved when she stepped toward the dais, Petunia noticed.

“My queen,” Rionin said with a smile at Lily. “Won’t you sit beside me?”

Another gesture, and a small, crook-legged chair was brought and set beside the tall, angular throne. Lily went to it and sat without comment, but Petunia could see that her sister’s thin hands were clenched in her violet skirts. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she had lost weight in the past weeks. Petunia could hardly fault her for taking the seat, close as it was to the throne.

“Now,” Rionin said with a kindly air that set Petunia’s teeth on edge, “what seems to be the trouble?”

“The trouble,” Petunia said over Kestilan’s protest that there was none, “is that we are here against our will. You know it, we know it, everyone here knows it. For four days I have endured his horrible playacting, calling me little pet names and pretending at courtship, and it is vile beyond even your usual vileness. I will dance all night if that is what is required of me, but I refuse to do so while Kestilan hisses in my ear about my being his kitten.”

The King Under Stone was looking at Petunia as though she had suddenly sprouted a horn from the middle of her forehead. “Who knew that little Petunia would grow up to be such a bold creature?”

“Anyone who ever spoke with her from the time she said her first words,” Rose said crisply. “Now, if you will make your brother promise to stop his awkward flirtations, we will continue to dance.”

“Very well,” the King Under Stone said, looking amused. He raised his voice so that it carried to all the corners of the ballroom. “The princesses have asked that all endearments and flirtations be halted, and we will abide by their wishes,” he said.

There were hoots and catcalls from the court, and several of them called out alternate names that the princesses might enjoy. Petunia was shocked, not just because of the crassness of some of the names, but also because the first King Under Stone would never have allowed such behavior.

She was about to say something, when Rose squeezed her elbow in warning. Petunia glanced up at her oldest sister, who didn’t look at her but continued to gaze at Rionin with vast disapproval.

Had they not been standing on the dais, Petunia would not even have seen it. But under the weight of Rose’s stare, the King Under Stone’s pallid cheek showed the faintest hint of a blush. The sight of it gave Petunia a small glow of hope. She reminded herself once more that he was human, at least half-human, and susceptible to human weaknesses and mistakes after all. He’d been trying to taunt the princesses with his announcement, but instead it had only underlined how tenuous his control was.

Rose let go of Petunia’s elbow, and Petunia turned on her heel and stepped off the dais without waiting for permission. She snapped her fingers at Kestilan, who followed her with an expression of deep astonishment. As they rejoined the dance, Petunia wondered if she’d gone mad. Even as a child, when she knew that she had had no real idea of the danger they were in, she never would have dared to argue with or turn her back on the king.