Chapter one
1139 Words
BLACK ROSES 🌹
Adelaide Nightvale...
I was late.
Not by choice.
The silver clasps on my ceremonial gown had caught on the embroidery just as I was leaving home, and despite Eudoria's nimble fingers, precious minutes slipped away before she finally freed me.
By the time I hurried into the Ancient Temple of Veryrfall, every eye had already found me.
The temple was breathtaking.
Black stone pillars rose into vaulted ceilings lost in shadow, while thousands of candles flickered against walls weathered by centuries. Carved roses climbed every column, their petals black as mourning silk, giving the sacred hall the solemn beauty of a forgotten tomb.
Even the dim light could not hide the icy glare my Aunt Sibylla fixed upon me.
Wonderful.
She was going to lecture me all the way home.
Annora, squeezed between two girls a few rows ahead, twisted around and frantically mouthed,
"Why are you late?"
I merely smiled helplessly.
There was no explaining now.
The Ceremony of Roses had already begun.
Girls from every province of Kingdom H stood beneath the ancient arches, dressed in colours that represented their homes. It was the one day every maiden of noble blood and respectable family awaited—the day they were blessed, their names entered into the Registry of Roses, and their futures entrusted to the kingdom's most renowned matchmakers.
Annora leaned close enough for only me to hear.
"Do you see that girl?"
She subtly nodded toward a slender young lady clothed in pale blue.
"The one from Veryrfall?"
I smiled.
"She's beautiful."
"I know."
Annora sighed dramatically.
"Now look at the girls from Kharrow. Must they always dress as though they climbed straight out of the forest?"
I bit back a laugh.
"I rather like their clothes."
"You would."
She rolled her eyes.
"You find everything amusing."
I couldn't help it.
Every province possessed a beauty of its own.
Yorkhaven, my home, stood proudly as the capital—the largest province in all the kingdom, famous for the endless Ravethorne Forest that surrounded it.
Grimvale was forged from mountain stone and iron, where blacksmiths crafted the finest armour and weapons known throughout the realm.
Ravaryn guarded the kingdom's oldest temples and libraries, where scholars preserved knowledge older than memory itself.
Kharrow lay hidden beneath endless forests and silver mist, its people living by the hunt, the fur trade, and ancient herbal remedies.
Then there was Veryrfall...
My late mother's birthplace.
The smallest province.
The poorest.
And perhaps the most peaceful.
Its waterfalls glittered beneath the morning sun, its fields stretched farther than the eye could see, and every soul seemed content with farming, fishing, and raising livestock.
I had always loved it here. But I always had to go home, to Yorkhaven.
"Adel!"
Annora suddenly grabbed my sleeve.
"They've opened the registry!"
She was already dragging me toward the longest queue in the temple.
"The Royal Matchmaker!" she whispered excitedly.
I glanced at the crowd.
"I truly don't see the fuss."
Annora stared at me as though I'd lost my senses.
"Any matchmaker will do."
"Spoken like someone who doesn't care whom she marries."
After answering endless questions about my family, bloodline, and upbringing, I finally made the journey home.
The familiar scent of cedar welcomed me before I even stepped into our courtyard.
Papa was exactly where I expected him to be, seated beneath the wooden awning of his workshop, carving another one of his tiny woodland creatures with remarkable patience.
I prepared a tray of food for Papa before quietly slipping two of his freshly carved wooden horses into my basket.
Eudoria adored Papa's carvings.
She claimed they were the closest thing to magic made by human hands.
From the balcony above, Gwendolyn watched me in silence.
Her expression, as always, could have frozen summer itself.
It had been two seasons since her own Ceremony of Roses.
Still, no suitor had chosen her.
Every failed match sharpened her bitterness.
She blamed Aunt Sibylla.
She insisted that had Papa been allowed to register her as his first daughter, respectable families would have overlooked the circumstances of her birth.
But everyone in Yorkhaven knew the story.
Gwendolyn had been born before Aunt Sibylla married Uncle Borron Eyre.
Her father had abandoned them both.
Though Papa had lovingly raised her alongside the rest of me, since Gwen was his only sister's daughter.my late mother had refused to alter the family registry.
Among matchmakers, bloodlines mattered almost as much as character.
Gwendolyn never forgave anyone for it.
Least of all me.
The road beyond our home curved toward Ravethorne Forest.
No matter how many times I passed it, the forest never failed to unsettle me.
Ancient pines stretched endlessly beneath a ceiling of black leaves.
Even during daylight, sunlight struggled to reach the forest floor.
Children were warned never to wander inside.
Some became hopelessly lost.
Others...
Never returned.
People claimed unimaginable creatures lurked beyond those trees.
Most laughed at such tales.
I never entirely did.
Sometimes I wondered if the forest mourned something it had lost long ago.
"Adel."
A familiar voice drifted from above.
I looked up.
There sat Eudoria upon the branch of an ancient oak, swinging her legs as though she hadn't a care in the world.
I laughed.
"One day you'll fall."
She grinned.
"How could I?"
She patted the branch.
"This is my home."
Eudoria smiled as she turned the little wooden horse over in her hands.
"They're perfect," she whispered, her eyes shining with childlike delight.
"I knew you'd love them."
She carefully placed the carving beside the others Papa had made over the years.
"So," she asked, settling against the trunk of the great oak, "how was the Ceremony of Roses?"
I shrugged.
"Nothing out of the ordinary. Aunt Sibylla is convinced I'll receive a worthy match before the next season. Annora seems even more excited than I am."
Eudoria laughed softly.
"I suppose that's what sisters are for."
"I suppose."
For a while, neither of us spoke.
The forest was strangely peaceful. A cool breeze stirred the branches overhead, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine. Somewhere in the distance, a stream murmured over stone.
To everyone else, Ravethorne was a place of nightmares.
To me...
It had never felt cruel.
Only lonely.
Then—
A sharp rustle shattered the silence.
Both our heads turned toward the thicket.
The bushes trembled.
Once.
Then again.
Eudoria's smile vanished.
She rose to her feet in an instant, her eyes fixed on the darkness between the trees.
"...Did you hear that?" I whispered.
She didn't answer.
Another rustle.
Closer this time.
The birds above us suddenly burst into the sky, their frantic wings beating against the canopy.
Eudoria slowly stepped in front of me.
Her voice, when she finally spoke, was barely above a whisper.
"Adel..."
"...Don't move."
- Writer
