Chocolate Cake

It was exactly the type of cake Rose hated, dark and decadent, with buttercream frosting loaded with chocolate sprinkles and shavings. As the silver knife sliced down the side, the cake seemed to bleed cherry filling, which pooled on the crystal plate now before her.

"Try it darling," her mother said. The Queen spent most of her days trying to convince her family that if they just tried something just once, they might be surprised. It never worked.

"Del-shus," the King said around an enormous bite.

"Yes, delicious," Glenn agreed, although he hadn't touched his own slice.

Rose looked at her brother, the prince, with surprise. He never agreed with anyone, let alone the King. In fact, it was rare for him to attend a royal cake-tasting at all. He didn't even know what the tasting was for, since the upcoming palace event that apparently required a decadent Black Forest cake was a closely guarded secret. Only Rose and her parents knew about King Thornburn's visit. And Minister Moss. Moss knew everything.

"Please, darling." The Queen never gave up. "You must try it."

"No!" Rose pushed her plate away and stood. "I won't! You can't make me! I hate chocolate!"

She sounded like a child, she knew, but Rose also knew that her parents couldn't force her to eat the cake. They could force her to attend the dinner, they could force her to meet the King who apparently adored chocolate cake and they could force her to spend the rest of her life watching said person eat the chocolate cake while she raised their chocolate-loving children. But they couldn't force her to eat this slice of cake. Not today.

Blinded by tears, she spun away from the table and barreled through a hastily opened door, thinking only of hiding in her room and demanding pumpkin pie. That would show them.

It was the last time she saw her parents alive.

***

"Princess!" Something gripped her arm. "Wake up!"

"Unhand me," Rose mumbled. She'd always wanted to say, "Unhand me," and now she was too tired to even enjoy it.

"Princess!" the voice sounded desperate. "Your very life is at stake!"

Rose very much doubted that--palace servants were famously melodramatic. But that voice didn't sound like a servant's, it sounded like …

Her eyes popped open. "Minister?"

It was Minister Moss, his tall pointed hat and his long, equally pointed white beard bobbing anxiously. "What are you doing -- this is improper!"

"You must leave," the Minister hissed.

"Leave the bedroom?"

"Leave the palace. Dress quickly, something warm."

Rose stared at him, finally catching on to his sense of urgency. In her entire 18 years, the old man before her was the only person who always spoke the truth. Not what she wanted to hear or what he wanted her to believe. The truth.

So she slid out of bed, heedless of her thin nightgown, and grabbed the riding habit laid out for the morning. She darted behind a screen and dressed quickly, missing some buttons and leaving the cravat untied (Rose wasn't used to dressing herself) but in his current state, she doubted Moss would care.

She stomped her feet into her boots and accepted a fur-lined cloak from the Minister. "Where am I going?" she whispered, pulling on her gloves. "What has happened?"

"No time." Moss led her out of the bedroom and down the shadowy corridors. He pulled her into alcoves and behind curtains as servants passed, but their route was clear: The Minister was taking her into the gardens.

It wasn't until they'd slipped out of the Palace and into the hedge maze that the Minister began to speak. "Not much further to the stables," he murmured. "Your mare is waiting."

"Where am I going?" Rose asked.

"To King Thornburn."

"Thornburn?" Rose stopped and stared up at the old man's face in the faint moonlight. "Why would I go to him? I'd never go there! Not by choice!"

"You don't have a choice!" Moss hissed. "Princess, I swore to protect you and your family. I have failed your parents and your brother. I will not fail you as well."

"You … you failed to protect my parents?" Rose stammered. She couldn't care less about Glenn. He never needed protection. People needed protection from him.

"What's happened to my parents?" she demanded. "Are they hurt? Are they ill?"

Moss shook his head and she could see the devastation in his dark eyes, even in the dim moonlight. "No, Princess, they are dead."

Rose stepped back. "That's not possible."

Moss kept speaking but the blood pounding in her ears made it difficult to hear: "Poison … Prince Glenn … chocolate cake … run!"

She felt a hard shove in the small of her back at the last word and found herself running blindly through the maze. Behind her was shouting and the clanking of weapons and pounding of feet. Her father's soldiers -- now Glenn's soldiers? Had they captured the Minister? If her parents were dead, what would Glenn do to her?

Rose continued to run, tripping over the riding habit's long skirts, her breath coming in pants. Was there no end to this accursed maze? Finally she saw an opening and dashed through, then nearly groaned aloud in despair. She wasn't at the stables, she was in the most dangerous place in the castle grounds.

The Red Rose Garden.

The Queen's Rose Gardens were extensive, famous throughout the country, cuttings eagerly requested in every color of the rainbow -- except for red. The Red Rose Garden was a dark, ominous place, overgrown and shadowy on the sunniest of days.

"Never enter the Red Rose Garden," her mother had told her. "Its very beauty brings death."

Unlike everything else in Rose's life, the Queen didn't have to tell her this twice. One visit to the fringes of the garden when she was nine sent her crying back to the Palace covered in deep scratches that took weeks to heal. From then on she was happy to enjoy the Queen's acres of beautiful roses, all sorted by color, and never thought of entering the Red Rose Garden again.

Until tonight. Lights were shining throughout the palace now and she could see torches in the hedge maze and in the gardens. A search was underway and only one place could shelter her now. And oddly enough, the Red Rose Garden appeared less frightening at night, more soft and welcoming, with a heavy, musky, alluring scent.

Rose stepped under the arch into the garden. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she could see bushes and bowers and benches and a little tinkling fountain covered in rose-studded vines.

"Princess."

It was a woman's voice, husky, melodious. Hungry.

"Who's there!" Rose called.

"At last. I have foreseen this. Come to me, Princess."

"Who are you?" Rose wished she had a sword, or a knife, or even a garden trowel at the moment.

A dark shape emerged from behind the trellis and stepped into a patch of moonlight. Rose saw a tall, slender form all in black, with a dead-pale face and red lips. A beautiful woman with long dark hair.

"I am Celestia," the woman said. "Do you know that name?"

"Cel-Celestia?" Rose stammered. "Why Celestia's a myth, a story!" Her mind fumbled for the tale: a spurned lover, a curse, a vow of revenge. "She's … she's a vampire!"

A cold hand, tipped with blood-red nails, clamped over Rose's arm and the woman's lips parted in a smile, showing suspiciously sharp teeth.

"Yes, Princess," she whispered. "I am."