Rosie closed her fist around her adoptive mother’s letter to the king.
Your Majesty,
I’m very sorry about the accident. I think I found her. A baby. An orphan, by the looks of it. And as far as I’m concerned that’s what she is. I won’t tell anyone about you, I promise.
However, I do have hesitations. They’re about your wife. Terrible woman, she was. She manipulated you.
I will take great care of your daughter, but I do wish she never existed …
—Mrs. Ardenwood
She reread the letter five times before deciding it wasn’t a fake. She would ask Mrs. Ardenwood to tell her the story of how she was first found, but not tell her that she knew anything.
She read the letter one last time, this time very carefully. Her father was the king. She was sure of it, which made her a princess.
***
Mrs. Ardenwood would give Rosie a mug of hot chocolate when tucking her in on the weekends. She would always ask the same question, “How was your day? Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”
“My father,” Rosie blurted out that particular night. “What happened to him?”
The hairs stuck up on Mrs. Ardenwood’s neck.
“Are you sure you’d like to hear the story? It’s quite the tale.”
Rosie clasped her hands together. “Please, tell me.”
Mrs. Ardenwood sighed, the hairs on the back of her neck lying flat again. “Okay.”
“Yes!” Rosie whispered. And then, Mrs. Ardenwood began the story.
***
I was growing up in a small village just north of here when I met your father. We were young teens just starting high school. We were taking the same class, at the same desk, with the same interests …