Prince Jeffery climbed the rope ladder up the tall redwood and settled into the hollow near the top. From there he could see the flower house, and the small wooden shrine he had built at its edge. Candles flickered inside it. Her picture sat at its center. He waited for Rosalind to step outside and notice. One true word from her was all he wanted. She did step outside. But she walked past his shrine without slowing. Instead she stopped at the large bowl of muffins set on a stone near her gate. Jeffery's chest tightened. He had not left that bowl. Someone else had. That someone stood at her fence. Prince Shelldon, the turtle prince, spoke in short, plain sentences. Jeffery could not hear the words, only the calm weight of them. Rosalind lifted a muffin and almost smiled. Jeffery gripped the bark. He had read her quiet kindness toward him as love. Now he watched her give the same quiet kindness to another man, and he could not tell them apart. Then a third shadow moved at the tree line. Frocklin the cold stood watching them both. Her face was still. Two princes at one gate. She had not been counted in any of it. Frocklin turned away into the woods, already planning. From a higher branch, a second figure watched too — a girl who looked like Rosalind but was not Rosalind. A sister, unseen until now. She studied the cold one's retreat with careful, knowing eyes. Jeffery climbed down slowly. His shrine still glowed by the path, unnoticed. He understood now that he had been reading the wrong signs. Whatever Rosalind felt, she had not shown it to him alone. The contest had just begun, and he was no longer the only one losing.

Jeffery walked back to the flower house at dawn. He needed to say one true thing. He stopped at the tall street light near her gate, the one crusted with painted butterflies. He had stood under it many times to listen to her. Today he meant to speak. Rosalind stepped out with a watering can. She did not look surprised. "You are early," she said. "The white ones opened last night." Jeffery opened his mouth. The words tangled. He thought of the turtle prince at her fence, of the muffins, of every hand that had reached toward her before his. His tongue went dry. "I came to tell you," he began, "that I — that the flowers —" He stopped. He could not finish. A quiet voice cut in from the path. "He cannot say it." Lauren stood there, arms folded, pink hair bright in the morning. "You should not make her wait while you sort yourself out." Rosalind looked at Jeffery a long moment. Her face did not change. "Come back when you know," she said. Not unkind. Just final. She turned and walked into the house. Jeffery stood under the butterfly light alone. He had tried to speak, and he had failed. The door was not shut on him — but it was not open either. He understood now what he had to do. Before he could win her word, he had to find his own.