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out over the garden.
    Why shouldn’t she appear tired? She had eleven younger sisters all looking to her for guidance. She had taken her mother’s place as the designated hostess for all social functions at the palace, and there had been a great many lately in the wake of the victory against Analousia. Just now there were three different foreign ambassadors at the palace, being wined and dined and hopefully signing lucrative trade agreements.
    And almost every night there was the dancing.
    There was always dancing after state dinners, and as the crown princess she was never “humiliated” by having to sit out a dance without a partner. King Gregor believed that an excess of revelry was unwholesome, however, so the dancing always ended promptly at eleven o’clock.
    Which gave the twelve sisters just enough time to freshen up before they attended the Midnight Ball.
    Rose turned back to the water and leaned over to look at herreflection again. Did it show on her face that she was cursed? Tired, yes, she certainly appeared tired. But would a curse—her curse, her sisters’ curse, her mother’s curse—leave its mark too?
    A sudden scuffling of the gravel on the path startled her, and she lost her balance, slipping headfirst into the water. But before she could crack her skull on the bottom of the fountain, a strong arm was around her waist, pulling her back.
    “Easy, there! Easy!”
    Sputtering, Rose found herself back on her favorite bench, only now she was sopping wet and embarrassed besides. A tall, rather handsome young man was standing over her, looking concerned. His brown gardening smock was open at the collar, despite the chill in the air, and she could see a thin white scar slashing the tanned skin it revealed. Curious, she couldn’t stop staring at this.
    “Um,
fraulein?’
    His voice drew her gaze upward. His voice was young, but his face was tanned from long hours in the sun, and there were even a few lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth. His hair was very short, but looked like it might curl if given the chance.
    “Fraulein
? Are you all right? Did I frighten you?”
    Rose stopped staring and mustered her dignity. Of course he had startled her—she hadn’t suddenly decided to dive into an icy fountain for her health!—but she felt it would be rude to mention that. Instead she nodded graciously.
    “Thank you for your help,” she said, trying to ignore the cold water that was dripping off her hair and soaking herdress, or the fact that most of her shawl was still in the fountain, with only a corner of it hooked over her elbow.
    “I’m Galen,” the young man said, picking up the rake he had dropped to help her. He held out his free hand.
    Rose looked at him in shock. Did he not know who she was? True, the Westfalian court was rather informal, but princesses did not shake hands with gardeners in any country she had heard of. Then it occurred to her that he must be the new gardener, Master Orm’s nephew.
    “Oh!” She stood but didn’t take his hand. “I’m Princess Rose,” she explained, smiling stiffly. She knew what would happen next: he would turn red, and then start stammering, and then back away. And whenever she passed him in the future, the awkward dance would be repeated.
    He did turn red, but just a little, and his tan hid most of it. But instead of stammering and backing away, he gave her a bow and simply said, “A pleasure to meet you, Your Highness. Please forgive me for not recognizing you.”
    Now Rose was the one stammering. “Quite—quite all right. No harm done … Galen.”
    “Do you need help getting back to the palace, Your Highness? The weather is quite chill, and you took a good dunking there.”
    “Um, no, thank you.” She dragged her shawl out of the fountain and gathered the heavy, dripping mass together as best she could. “I’ll be fine, thank you.”
    He nodded courteously. “I’d better finish raking, then,” he said.
    “Yes.”
    He was still looking