***Marigold Constallion***

Get over it. It's just hair, I tell myself, but I still can't bring my hovering hand to touch the butchered ends. I want to punch myself for caring so much, but here I am, still sitting in front of the mirror, still trying to swallow the change, even though I'm lucky to be alive.

Suddenly Mother's reflection ghosts into the mirror. Everything she does looks so light and effortless sometimes it's like she's not even real. When her reflection rests its hands on my shoulders I almost jolt at the pressure.

"You look beautiful."

"You're just saying that because you have to," I grumble, my eyes skirting from her green eyes to her long black hair.

"That is partially true," Mother replies, the corner of her lip quirking up. "But I mean it, Marigold. You truly are a stunning girl."

The black locks tucked behind her ear dip into a low arc as she leans down and presses her lips against my temple. It's a small gesture, but it somehow manages to squish the gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"Come down for breakfast when you're ready," she says as she pulls away. "I have something I'd like to discuss."

I won't ever be as good at reading Mother as Poppy and Rose were, but I know "I'd like to" actually means "I will" and "when you're ready" translates to "now."

When she leaves the room I knock my forehead against the mirror and sigh.

I don't run into anyone on the way to the dining room. It's been like this for a while, though, so it doesn't really bother me anymore. Mother probably has something to do with it. She never liked how friendly we were with the servants and she'll mostly be getting things her way now that Father isn't really doing anything.

I don't think there's anything actually wrong with him. I tried to ask Mother about it, but her answers never really answered anything, or she just got pissed. All I got from her was that what happened made him so sad he couldn't even get out of bed in the mornings.

Which is stupid. What does that even mean? He wasn't in the ballroom when it happened, so he didn't even see anything. Mother and I are pretty fucking sad too, but we're still trying our best. It sounds like he isn't trying at all.

I push open the door to our new dining hall a little harder than I need to and sit down at the table. The food looks pretty but I'm not hungry. I'm too busy being imagining what Mother has to say to me - she wouldn't have come to my room if it wasn't important.

"You came down quickly," she says. "That's good. Breakfast looks especially appetizing this morning."

I almost admit that I'm not hungry, but not being hungry would mean leaving the food untouched, which would be rude to the cooks. Although Mother doesn't like us getting too friendly with lower classes, she's obsessed with courtesy. And courtesy means cramming croissants down your throat even when you aren't hungry and pretending to love every bite.

"It does look good," I agree, reaching for a buttery croissant and burying my teeth into it. It's pretty good, but I could be eating rocks for all the taste I got out of it. Really fattening rocks.

"You must be curious about what I mentioned this morning," she says, sipping her tea.

"Yes," I reply. When she goes a little quiet I realize my reply was too short to be polite. Curt, she would call it.

"Sooner or later we would have have to address the events on the night of the ball," Mother says once she finishes her criticizing silence.

"Yes," I manage to say. "I guess so."

I guess she can see that I'm trying, so she lets it go.

"It was... gruesome," she says, "what happened that night. If I could I would take it out of your memory, I would."

"But you can't."

I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth, but I couldn't take them back any more than Mother could scrub away my bad memories.

"The repercussions of what happened on that night," Mother finally continues, her voice flat, "they reach far beyond our own people. Do you recall the number of royal heirs and heiresses that attended? Arthonia was not the only kingdom to lose its future in the fire, Marigold. Many powerful families are grieving for their losses."

"But it's not our fault!" I blurt.

"No," Mother agrees. "But they will find a way to blame us anyway." She turns her head, the corner of her mouth gouging downward. "I loathe to admit it, but Rose's death is the only reason that some of the kingdoms have yet to publicly turn against us. For now, our loss earns us a place among the suffering. But we are treading on thin ice."

"That still doesn't make any sense," I reply, swirling a teaspoon inside my cup. There's nothing in it, but it's a good distraction. "A dragon coming out of nowhere is something no one could have planned, it's like an earthquake or a really bad storm or something. So... it just wouldn't makes sense for them to try to blame us."

"Marigold, there are a few finer points in politics that we will touch upon at a later date," Mother says, stapling her fingers and resting her chin on top of them, her green eyes seeing, but never showing. "But for now there are other matters we must discuss."

If I was talking to a servant, I could whine and threaten into getting my way, an explanation. But queens probably won't give into tantrums - definitely not one like my mother.

I stretch my lips into a smile and dip my head politely. "Of course, Your Grace."

Her lips twitch with amusement and I have to squish the pride that threatens to make my smile real.

"In order to begin to stabilize our standings with the other kingdoms, I've made careful arrangements to host a foreign heir under our roof as a display of peace and hospitality."

The smile freezes on my face.

"What?" I slam my hands on the table. The chair screeches as I stand and the heel of my palm crushes a croissant. "Who is it? Which kingdom? How old is he? How long will he stay? When will he be here?"

"He will arrive within the week," Mother answers, choosing to be amused instead of pissed. I know she's waiting for me to sit back down before she keeps talking, so I do.

Before she can answer the rest of my questions, a courtier I've never seen slides into the room. Her face chills with each clipped, polished steps, but if Mother's death glare makes him nervous about losing his job, he doesn't let it show. When he reaches her side he leans over, gaze trained forward, his mouth moving soundlessly against the perfect hollow of her ear. The anger on Mother's face stumbles, but only for a second, like the flickering of a candle feeding off the wind.

Then it's back, burning brighter than before.

"Marigold, don one of your finer dresses. It seems we will be graced with his company a bit sooner than expected," she says stiffly. "Soranians always did seem to favor spontaneity."

--------------------------

A/N: All votes and comments are appreciated :)

For critiques: I... I don't know. This chapter was so tiny. Why did it take this long. Holy cow am I tired. Just hit me with your best shot.