Chapter 139
Ciel
The Queen asked for me.
The words alone are enough to knot my stomach.
I follow the servant through the palace corridors, my steps measured, my hands clasped together so tightly my fingers ache.
The palace feels different when Jack isn't beside me—larger, colder, every echo magnified. I keep my head high anyway. I refuse to look like I'm shrinking.
The doors to the garden open, and sunlight spills in.
Roses.
Rows and rows of them, meticulously kept, blooming in shades of red, white, blush, and gold. The air smells rich and sweet, heavy with petals and earth. At the center of it all stands the Queen.
She isn't wearing a crown. No ceremonial gown. Just gloves, clippers in hand, sleeves rolled slightly as she trims a rose bush with practiced precision.
"Leave us," she says without looking up.
The servant bows and retreats immediately, footsteps fading until it's just the two of us and the quiet snip of steel through stems.
