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The ship they send Claudette on is small. It is laden with treasure, gold and jewels and flowers.
They permitted her three packets of seeds. She chose them carefully, despite the rush and fear in her chest.
Her garden had been her safe place, all her life. The slender willow at the center, its canopy hiding her from the world, was her shelter. For the last time, she sat under it, and pretended her world was not shattered.
The ocean is a clear, bright blue during the day. Claudette sits by the ship's edge and stares at it until one of the sailors steers her away, unwilling to meet her eyes.
She has a separate resting place from the sailors and servants who travel with her on this ship. She lays in her cramped cot and imagines them, in resting quarters they can barely fit in, dreaming of things she will never see.
The servants dress her every morning. They are silent, unwilling to speak to her, and Claudette misses the stories and gossip the familiar ones from home would tell.
The days pass quickly. Claudette is carefully steered from the sides whenever she stands on the deck, and she begins to stay inside instead, reading the books she'd brought with her. She traces the outlines of familiar plants on the pages and wonders if she will ever see them again.
The ocean's rocking becomes as familiar as it is strange. Claudette takes her meals, and writes one letter a day. She touches the tiara on her head, thin and gold, and wonders what her parents are doing without her. Are they as afraid as she is?
Her mother had been stern when they told her, sure that this was the best thing to do. Her father's face had crumpled as he took her hands in his and told her how much they both loved her.
There is a pressed flower in one of Claudette's books. She holds it to her nose and breathes in, imagining her home, her garden, her parents with her again. She imagines planting another garden in her new home, and her heart is a gaping hole.
The weather changes. It is warmer now, the sky rarely clouded. They are in a part of the world Claudette has only see on maps. She tries to imagine the plants here, but all she can think about are the flowers at home.
More ships appear, sailing past. Some are large, transporting massive amounts of goods. Others are tiny, manned by skeleton crews.
Claudette tosses and turns at night. She sleeps on top of the covers, seeds clutched to her chest. She imagines them taking root in her chest and growing through the ceiling, bursting into the ocean air. The sea's salt would poison their roots.
The sailors are excited now, cheerful and eager to arrive. The servants seem anxious, but they ignore Claudette's tentative attempts to talk.
Finally, a great shape appears over the horizon: an island, surrounded by ships, covered in a massive, sprawling city. Claudette stares at it, and can hardly breathe.
She sits to write, and no words come to her mind. She draws instead: a willow tree, its canopy almost touching the ground.
She touches her bare ring finger, and imagines a ring, made of daisies chained together.
For a long time, she lays in her cot, and forces her heart to calm. When she closes her eyes, she sees the island, growing closer by the minute.
Claudette is woken by yelling. She sits up as the ship jerks to a halt. A servant pulls open the door to her cabin, almost-fear on her face in the second before she looks away.
"Princess!" she says. "We've arrived."
Claudette is draped in jewels and finery. She keeps her eyes to the ground as she is led off the ship. She can feel the gazes on her.
The air is hot and humid. She tastes the salt in her mouth. When she inhales the scent of old wood, steeped in seawater, is overwhelming.
Knights stand to each side of her, ushering her along the dock. Their armor shines in the sun.
Claudette's tiara is heavy on her head for the first time in years. She feels weighed down by her fine dress, and imagines falling past the knights, off the dock, and sinking like a stone.
The green, she reminds herself: her willow tree, her plants, her hands in the dirt.
A carriage awaits them. One knight holds the door open, ushering Claudette inside. He sits across from her, closing the door after him with a final-sounding click.
The carriage begins to move, and Claudette keeps her hands in her lap. Her packets of seeds are with her things, carried by servants off of the ship. She can feel them, still, her last tenuous connection to home.
She doesn't speak to the knight. His face is hidden behind his helmet, limp black hair protruding through the gaps in the visor. Claudette looks away instead, and watches the people on the streets.
Some carry baskets of fish, others groceries. Some are dressed finely, and Claudette imagines them as wealthy merchants, traveling from port to port. Some look at the carriage. One child points at it, and her mother grabs her hand.
They leave the business of the docks behind, entering the city proper. It is nicer, cleaner. Claudette can no longer taste salt on the air.
There are shops lining the road, selling bread and trinkets and, she glimpses for a second, fresh flowers. The homes next to them have windows blocked by curtains and children playing outside.
The homes become more opulent, the shops fewer. These are mansions, hidden behind low walls and carefully cultivated plants. Claudette thinks she recognizes some of the shrubbery, but if she's right, these species would never thrive in the island's climate.
Finally, the homes thin out entirely. Claudette forces herself to look away from the window, back to the knight and his inscrutable helmet. She closes her eyes, and laces her bare fingers together.
The carriage comes to a stop. The knight opens the door, his armor creaking. He ushers Claudette out.
Despite herself, she looks up, at the clear blue sky. She closes her eyes, and feels the humidity against her skin.
The carriage door is closed behind her. Claudette opens her eyes, and follows the knight through massive open gates, guarded by more knights in identical armor.
He leads her through broad pillars into a massive entrance, the marble floor so polished she can see her reflection. The walls are decorated with massive tapestries, depicting scenes Claudette cannot focus on. Her heart has found its way into her throat, and she can barely breathe.
The knight takes her through a long hallway and up a low flight of steps to a massive pair of doors. He pauses and looks at her.
Claudette takes a deep breath.
"Thank you," she says softly.
A short exhale, halfway to a laugh, leaves the knight's helmet. He opens the door, and Claudette enters. He follows behind her, and extends one arm as the door swings closed.
"Your Majesty," he announces in a deep, raspy voice, "I present to you Her Royal Highness, Princess Claudette Morel."
The ceiling of the throne room is high and vaulted, and the knight's voice echoes. The room is decorated lavishly, more tapestries hanging from the walls.
The throne — a single one, not two next to each other like Claudette has always known — sits on a dais. It is lavishly decorated, its arms encrusted with jewels.
A woman sits upon it, a cane crossed lazily over her legs. She is clothed finely, not in a dress but in trousers and a long coat. Her hair is piled on top of her head, a grandiose circlet holding it in place. From her left temple to her lip, her face is scarred.
At her right, a dog sits, its body massive and muscular. On her left is another woman, pale and with her hair cut short, who is dressed similarly. A thin golden crown sits on her head.
Claudette's fiancee grins, and her lip tugs at the scar tissue. Her left eye almost seems to glow.
Claudette ducks her eyes, and curtsies deeply. She feels dizzy, like she's barely present in this grandiose room.
"I am honored to meet you," she says, praying her voice does not tremble. "Thank you for welcoming me into your home."
The queen throws her head back and laughs.
"Nothing but the best for my future wife!"
Slowly, Claudette rises from the curtsy. She can feel the knight's presence behind her.
The queen rises from her throne. She is tall, at least a head above Claudette. Her boots click against the polished marble as she approaches. The dog and other woman remain at the throne; the dog pants contentedly while the woman scowls.
Claudette forces herself to meet the queen's eyes. The queen reaches out one hand, and Claudette keeps herself still as her chin is taken between two strong fingers. The queen stares into Claudette's eyes, and Claudette finally looks away. It is too painful to force herself to make eye contact.
"Princess Claudette. I, Queen Portia Maye, am pleased to become your betrothed." Her face is serious for a moment, and then the grin returns. "Now let us eat, drink, and make merry, for soon we will be wed!"
The queen releases Claudette's chin and spins on her heel. She whistles and beckons, and the dog runs to her side. The woman follows at a slower pace.
The queen puts out one hand, and the woman takes it, accepting the kiss the queen presses to her cheek. For a moment, the hard edges of her face soften.
"Taurie, my dear, show Claudette around."
As the queen swirls out of the throne room, the woman's scowl returns. Claudette feels as though she's shriveling under her intense gaze.
The woman crosses her arms. There are twin marks on her chin, leading down her neck to the center of her throat, but most of them are concealed by the high collar of the long coat she wears.
"Nice to meet you," Claudette begins, but the woman scoffs.
"Taurie," she says by way of introduction. "First wife of Portia Maye."
Claudette's heart skips a beat.
Taurie leads Claudette down more long hallways. The knight remains in the throne room, and Claudette almost misses his presence. She can't pay attention to the brief remarks Taurie makes about the rooms they pass. Her head aches.
Finally, they come to a stop at another door, this one wide and flanked by columns.
"The garden," Taurie says. She turns to leave, and despite herself, Claudette reaches out a hand, barely grazing her shoulder. Taurie flinches, and Claudette jerks her hand back.
"I'm sorry!" she says. "I just— The garden, please?"
Taurie glares at her, but gestures to the door, as if to say Do it yourself, then.
Claudette pushes it open. The sky outside is a vivid orange and already scattered with stars.
The garden is sprawling. A fountain sits past a field of grass and colorful flowers, water falling softly into its pool. Trees line the edges, thin and unfamiliar, vines winding around their trunks. Seats and benches scatter the grounds, as if placed at random.
It is nothing like home, with the plants Claudette had painstakingly cared for and its familiar willow tree. It is the closest anything here has come.
Claudette's eyes burn. She covers them with her hands, willing back the tears.
Taurie's coat swishes. Claudette tries to look up at her, but her vision is blurry, and she just looks like a vague mess of colors.
"Claudette," she half-says, half-asks. Then she is quiet. Claudette doesn't know how to respond.
"I'm sorry," she tries.
Taurie scoffs. She walks deeper into the garden, and Claudette follows her to a bench, secluded next to shrubs with dangling crimson flowers. Taurie sits, and Claudette does too. She buries her head back into her hands, trying to muffle the terrible noises which try to come out of her mouth.
Claudette's hands quickly become wet. She sobs, as quietly as she can, next to this woman who is little more than a stranger.
The last rays of sun illuminate Taurie when Claudette looks at her, the dark markings on her neck and chin like tentacles or claws. Her hair is cropped close enough to see faint white scars on her scalp. The gems attached to her clothing sparkle.
Taurie looks back. Her eyes are a bright, piercing blue.
"Why did you come here?"
"My parents," Claudette sniffles, "needed power, and Queen Maye offered it."
Taurie laughs. There is little humor in it.
"It was power for me, too, at first. Then it became safety." She looks up at the stars. "Now, Fortune is my home."
Claudette wipes her eyes. The tears are mostly gone. She feels wrung-out.
"What is she like?" she asks.
"Hm." Taurie touches her throat absently. "Kinder than she thinks. Cruel, when she wants to be. Generous."
She takes one crimson flower in her hands, and pulls it from its home.
As the sun slips below the horizon, Taurie tucks the flower into Claudette's hair. Her hand lingers at the side of her face, trailing down her cheekbone to her jaw. She takes Claudette's chin between a finger and thumb, and tilts it up, looking her in the eyes.
Taurie's lips are dry against Claudette's. Reflexively, Claudette closes her eyes. She makes a soft noise as Taurie breaks the kiss and releases her jaw.
Taurie stands, and Claudette looks up at her, her body silhouetted by stars. She offers a hand, and Claudette takes it.
Just before they enter the palace, Taurie pauses.
"Sometimes Portia forgets when and where she is. When she does... run, and find someone safe."