“It is not a Christmas tree!" said the King, so firmly that all the girls stopped jumping about. "This is a house of mourning. It is nothing more than a tree. I thought it would look nice. Inside. That is all.”

“What did your mother do?" he said."Sir?""When it was time for bed," said the King. "Tell me."The girls exchanged nervous glances. He was talking about Mother."She used to help the girls with their prayers," said Azalea, hesitant. "And-sometimes she would read stories."The King set the sword on the table, next to the vase."Very well," he said as the girls whispered to one another. "I will read you a story."The whispering stopped.”

“What happened?" said Clover, wetting a cloth in the basin, and dabbing Azalea's face."She had a sort of fit," said the King. "I think her underthings may be laced too tightly."All the girls, including Azalea, blushed brilliantly."Sir," said Eve. "You're not suppose to know about the U word!""Am I not? Forgive me.”

“He's around the twist,' said Azalea. 'Breaking all the windows? He's mad.''Ah, no,' said the King. 'It's only madness if you actually do it. If you want to break all the windows in the house and drown yourself in a bucket but don't actually do it, well, that's love.”

“It is only glass, you know. Nothing fine or grand.Your Mother knew it, when she accepted it with my hand.And she knew I danced as well as a tree. She knew about the politics and duties and responsibilities of marrying into royalty. She knew all those...unfortunate things. Things some people might even call ghastly.”

“From a memory deep inside her, so faint it only held sounds and slips of color, a tiny, three-year-old Azalea wailed, "Papa.""Papa," said Azalea to the lifeless form of the King. The word was so forgein, it choked her throat. "Papa... you can't leave us, Papa... It would be very...out of order-"Bramble knelt opposite her, grasping the King's bandaged hand."She's-she's right, Papa," Bramble stuttered. "We have...rules..."Clover fell to her knees and pressed her handkerchief to his chest. Blood soaked through. "Papa," she whispered.The girls knelt around the King, their skirts spead out like forlorn blossoms, swallowing , and whispering one word."Papa.""Papa.""Papa.”

“I will tell you about the lady I loved."The girls settled together on the entrance steps, not even breathing, for fear it would rustle the rosebushes about them and mask Mr. Keeper's words. Mr. Keeper stood unmoving on the dance floor."Once upon a time," he said. His voice dripped in silk strands. "There was a High King, who wanted more than anything to kill the Captain General who incited a rebellion against him. It consumed him. The desire to kill the Captain General filled him to his core, and he spent every breath, every step, thinking of ways to murder the Captain General."But he was old, and time passed, as it always does."Mr. Keeper paused. Bramble cast a slightly bemused glance at Azalea, her eyebrow arched."So," Mr. Keeper continued, "he took an oath. He filled a wine flute to the brim with blood. And he swore, on that blood, to kill the Wentworth General, and that he would not die until he did."And then, he drank it."The end."There was a very ugly, naked silence after that. The girls' mouths gaped in perfect Os."Sorry?" said Delphinium. "I missed the part about the lady?""Ah," said Mr. Keeper. "The blood. It was hers.”