Fiona Rose stood at her family's gate and watched Zeke's carriage roll up again. Three years ago, Trae had left Davenjir without knowing she loved him. She had kept his letter that whole time. She meant to find him. But the prince kept arriving first. He pressed a golden rose into her hand, its petals cold and heavy. "Wear my favor," he said. "Be mine before the week is out." Her mother smiled behind him. Her father nodded. No one saw her fingers tighten until the stem bit her palm. The family gathered beneath the glowing blue tree in the yard, where Zeke held court each evening. He spoke of his father's castle, of soft beds and silk. He spoke of claiming her. Fiona kept her eyes on the roots. She thought of a laugh she still remembered exactly. "She will give you her answer tonight," her father said. Her mother squeezed her shoulder hard. Zeke leaned close and whispered what he wanted from her after supper. Fiona felt the walls of her own house close around her like a fist. That night she packed one bag. She set the golden rose on the table beside the letter with the return address. She walked out before dawn and bought a ticket on the first bus leaving Davenjir. Her family would wake to an empty room. The prince would wake to a refusal shaped like absence. She was going to find Trae.