Roses

The dining hall was monstrous in size—absurdly grand for a table that would only seat one. Vaulted ceilings with gilded cherubs perched atop, frozen in eternal mischief. Towering stained-glass windows that caught the morning sun in shards of jewel-colored light. Marble columns lined the walls like unmoving guards. Two chandeliers the size of carriages, and a table so long it could seat an army.

Rosalee was guided to the center of it all—alone.

They were led to a single place setting. No father. No mother. No Thornwood.

Which was fine by them.

Silver domes were lifted to reveal a decadent breakfast: candied plums in golden syrup, fresh croissants stuffed with sweet cheese and rose jam, soft eggs seasoned with pink sea salt, a creamy porridge topped with toasted almonds and honey, smoked ham with herbed eggs, citrus-poached fruits, spiced muffins slathered in clotted cream, and honey-glazed rolls dusted with gold flakes.

There was even a small crystal pitcher of freshly squeezed pomegranate juice.

Lollipop dug in without hesitation. Gleefully.

He ate like a man who hadn't been stabbed to death in another life—because he had—and savored every sugary bite.

By the time they finished their third croissant, they leaned back with a sigh, patting their stomach.

Then blinked.

'Wait.'

Too late, he realized he'd eaten too much again. With a groan, he leaned back in his chair, patting his now-slightly-puffed stomach.

"Holy hell."

He muttered, eyes narrowing at his plate.

'Gah! Oh no! I'm eating like I'm still in my teens with an impossible metabolism and a dancer's job. If I keep this up…'

They imagined looking down one morning and seeing their belly puffed like a pastry.

"If I keep eating like this, I'll need a corset forged by dwarves to stay snatched! No. Absolutely not!"

With a decision made, it was time to act. They dabbed their lips with a napkin, stood, and slipped quietly out of the hall. They needed a fix. He needed exercise. He needed to sneak off and burn some of these calories before his thighs betrayed him.

The family's training grounds were out back—across two wings and a courtyard. If they were lucky, the guards would be mid-rotation, and no one would notice them slipping through.

His plan was simple: sneak out to the training yard, scout the area, find a knight or guard with a good body and a simple mind, and charm them into being his secret trainer. He needed to build stamina, shed the sugar weight, and ideally tone up his legs. God knew he wouldn't be caught dead looking flabby in this world, even if he was technically undead.

But as they made their way down a lesser-used corridor and toward the rear of the estate, turning a corner toward the servant's back stairwell, a familiar voice interrupted him.

"And where might Lady Rosalee be going so early in the morning?"

Lollipop stopped cold.

"Damn it."

Ben Bell.

Ben stood there, dressed in a smart servant's coat and white gloves, arms folded as he leaned casually against the wall like a romantic lead in a penny novel. His chestnut-brown hair looked slightly windswept, and his pale green eyes held a touch too much amusement for Lollipop's liking.

Rosalee stilled. Then turned slowly, planting a fake smile on his lips.

"You're still here?"

Ben cleared his throat.

"I was… just checking in. After this morning's… incident."

A long, awkward pause hung between them.

"Well, you're just in time…"

Lollipop said sweetly, voice dropping into mischief.

"I was just about to head out for a morning stroll. You know how refreshing the morning dew can be. And what about you?"

Ben's expression was unreadable until he arched an eyebrow.

"Dressed like that? In riding boots? And with gloves?"

Caught.

But Lollipop didn't flinch.

"A lady must accessorize, even when walking…"

Lollipop tilted their head, lips quirking into a half-smile.

"Modesty is a virtue, after all, Ben."

Ben's gaze drifted to the polished heels and tightly fitted pants.

"You didn't seem too modest this morning."

Lollipop blinked—and then laughed, rich and unapologetic.

"So you did peek."

Ben flushed again, but recovered faster this time.

"Not intentionally."

"Shame…"

Rosalee teased, strutting up to him with casual elegance.

"Remember, the first time was a freebie but next time, I'll have to start charging you, sweetie."

Ben coughed violently, clearly caught off guard again.

Lollipop reached him, finger trailing along the stone wall as he whispered.

"And I'm very expensive…just kidding haha."

Lollipop gave a cheerful chuckle. Ben didn't laugh.

"I—"

Ben cleared his throat.

"Where are you really going?"

"Out. I need to keep my figure. Can't have the whole estate thinking I'm a cream-puff princess."

Ben studied him for a long moment, the teasing edge in his eyes slowly replaced by something sharper. Insight, maybe. Or suspicion.

"You're lying."

Ben said flatly.

Lollipop stepped closer, brushing past him with an innocent expression that was anything but.

"You're free to walk with me…"

He offered, glancing over his shoulder.

"If you don't trust me to wander on my own."

Instead of pushing for answers, he pushed off the pillar, straightened and offered a slight bow.

"Then allow me to escort you, Lady Rosalee. For your protection. Just in case."

"In case of what?"

They teased.

Ben met their eyes.

"That's what I intend to find out."

For a moment, their eyes held—red against green, both glittering with something unreadable.

Lollipop's smile widened.

'Curious and cautious. That's fine. I don't need him to trust me… not yet.'

Rosalee tilted his head.

"Are you sure you're up for it? I wouldn't want you distracted by... scenery again."

Ben didn't rise to the bait.

"I'll manage."

"Suit yourself…"

They said breezily, adjusting their gloves and strolling ahead.

"But don't expect me to hold back if I decide to do something scandalous."

Ben said nothing, but his jaw twitched. Just to be safe, he followed two steps behind.

Rosalee turned, crimson waves of long hair swaying as he descended the stairs with the butler in tow—amused, intrigued, and already scheming what to do with this unexpected morning escort.

Ben stayed two steps behind, ever-watchful—unaware that in this game of wits and seduction, the hunter was slowly becoming the prey.

…

The morning sun filtered gently through gauzy clouds, casting soft, golden light across the Florenzia estate. As Rosalee rounded the marble-columned corner, he subtly pivoted his pace and direction, turning away from the east corridor that would have led them toward the training grounds. He could feel Ben's pale green eyes watching his every step—he couldn't risk being caught in the act of preparing to break the mold assigned to him. Not yet. Not before he had the right knight, the right angle, and the right leverage.

So instead, he led Ben toward path that led to the garden.

Rosalee slowed their pace as they rounded a hedge of white-petaled climbing roses and slipped deftly onto a side path. Ben followed, of course—dutiful, observant, but unaware of their subtle redirection. The narrow stone path beneath them wound into the estate's sprawling rose garden, a hidden jewel nestled behind the manor. No guards trained here, no family members strolled here in the morning. It was quiet. Private.

Exactly what Rosalee needed.

Instantly, the air changed. The scent of roses was overwhelming—heady, sweet, and laced with dew. The morning sun was bright but forgiving, filtered through trellises of blooming crimson and coral, as well as ivory roses that arched overhead like an enchanted canopy. Petals drifted gently in the breeze like confetti falling from a forgotten celebration. The roses, pruned to perfection and climbing tall stone walls, seemed to whisper a quiet welcome.

The gravel path crunched beneath their feet as they stepped beneath a tall wrought iron archway entwined with crimson climbing roses. Roses in hues ranging from ghostly white to blazing yellow to deep, velvety black filled the hedged lanes. Some bloomed wide and wild, others tight in aristocratic spirals, elegant and orderly. The garden stretched in disciplined symmetry for acres, carefully kept but rarely enjoyed by those who called Florenzia home.

Rosalee inhaled, deeply, delightedly.

'Roses…'

He thought with a thrill of amusement and melancholy, his red eyes softening.

'Even after death, you spoil me.'

Ben said nothing, only followed a respectful distance behind, his hands loosely clasped behind his back like a soldier on standby.

Rosalee let his fingers brush the soft petals of a hybrid fuchsia bloom that looked vaguely like a rose, letting the silence stretch between them.

As he walked, thoughts began to spiral inward. His old life—the nightlife, the neon signs, the perfume of high-end cologne clinging to bedsheets and late-night clients, the press of hungry mouths and whispered promises. His name on their lips: Lollipop. It had meant something. It had meant everything. He had carved out power and presence from nothing, survived on wit and charm and beauty in a city that chewed people up like gum and spat them out even sweeter.

But that life was gone.

He'd been stabbed—murdered, probably—and for all he knew, Kyle was scraping out his funeral playlist or yelling at the heavens with a cigarette in one hand and a wine glass in the other. A bitter chuckle stirred in his chest.

"Are we… touring the garden now?"

Ben asked, his tone skeptical, but not confrontational, as he broke the silence.

Rosalee only hummed, voice light.

"Do you not approve of roses, Sir Bell?"

Ben's jaw shifted slightly.

"They're… fine."

"Hm."

Rosalee turned slightly, catching the gleam of early sunlight hitting Ben's pale green eyes.

"Red ones are my favorite. But I'm partial to white when they've bloomed wide. They remind me of… endings. Beginnings."

Ben looked startled but said nothing.

The garden unfurled around them in a cascade of color and scent—velvet reds bled into soft peaches, whites nestled beside buttery yellows. Pale lavender roses curled at the edges like painted porcelain, and deep pinks glowed with morning dew.

To Rosalee, it was the smell of safety and survival. Roses were his favorite. Back when he was Lollipop, he'd worn rose-scented oils on his throat and inner thighs to drive men wild, laced his bathwater with petals, and even considered tattooing roses across his most hidden places. And here—here, the blooms surrounded him like old friends in silent understanding. His mother would have loved this place.

The path forked several times, but Rosalee walked as if they'd been here countless times, steps light and bare of hesitation.

They paused before a tall trellis wound with thorny crimson roses, and Rosalee let out a soft, unguarded sigh.

"Ma used to have rose tattoos. Back when I was…"

They trailed off, fingers grazing the air near their collarbone.

They moved further into the rose garden before they stopped in front of a particularly gorgeous bush of sunset-orange roses with gold-dusted edges.

"I'd kill for a bottle of lube that smelled like this."

He whispered to himself, half-laughing.

Ben's ears turned a suspicious shade of pink.

"My Lady?"

He asked, clearly having caught something but unsure whether to press.

Rosalee waved a hand airily.

"Just talking to the flowers. Don't mind me."

He plucked a blossom, twirled it between two fingers, and continued down the path.

The warmth of the sun soaked into his pale skin, and for a moment, he allowed himself to feel real again. But just as quickly, the weight of his reality returned. Lollipop—he was dead. That brash, beautiful boy who danced with danger and ran his life like a glittering performance on a tightrope… was gone.

He closed his eyes.

'Kyle, darling…'

He silently prayed with every fiber of his being.

'Please stay fabulous without me.'

Ben quirked a brow, unsure whether to ask—but then again, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Something about Rosalee this morning unsettled him. Not in a threatening way—no, that was too crude a word. More like… magnetic. Something deeper than curiosity now buzzed in his chest, and it made him oddly self-conscious.

Rosalee looked… radiant.

And not in the polished, porcelain-doll way they'd always seemed before. Today, they were vivid. Alive. Like someone who had been chained for years and had finally inhaled fresh air.

It made Ben… nervous.

Meanwhile, Rosalee's heart stirred with memories—warm, painful, sacred. Kyle's wide grin over instant noodles. The soft glow of a monitor during late-night game sessions. The laughter they shared watching cheesy horror movies. And the silence that had followed when Lollipop, for the first time, had thought about dying young and what he would leave behind.

'I'll miss ya, Lollipop…'

He thought quietly.

Goodbye to the neon lights, to the feel of cold cash on hot skin. Goodbye to those moans in penthouses and the midnight lipstick touch-ups in cracked mirrors. Goodbye to Kyle, his Kyle—who was probably sobbing his heart out and cursing the heavens. Lollipop hoped someone was comforting him. He deserved comfort.

'Kyle… please be okay without me.'

He could almost imagine his best friend yelling at him, horrified that he'd gotten stabbed, dragged into another world, and was now wearing gauzy tea party gowns while being eyed by an uptight butler.

He laughed softly to himself.

A flash of Mark's face burned through his thoughts—those wide, tear-slicked eyes, the trembling voice, the pathetic devotion. The aching "I love you" screamed too late, like all men did when he was halfway out the door. Lollipop had been fond of Mark once, in a way. But not deeply. Not enough to grieve.

Rosalee scowled and physically shook his head.

He pushed Mark's memory from his mind.

He didn't want to remember that part. He had always hated when clients confused his touch for love, as if affection could be bought or demanded. Even the rich and powerful lost their minds at the idea of owning him.

"Tch. So annoying."

He tossed the rose to the ground and stepped over it without hesitation.

Not in this life.

Now he was here.

Alive, somehow.

Different, absolutely.

Lollipop—no, Rosalee—let the gentle breeze carry their thoughts for a moment.

Rosalee slowed, letting the warmth of the sun soak into his skin. He was bathed in golden light, the soft wind rustling his blouse, tugging his red curls slightly. His crimson eyes, once sharp with mischief, now gleamed with renewed purpose. He would live—thrive—in this strange new world.

If he was going to live again, it would be on his terms. He wouldn't be someone's pawn, someone's tragic second. This time, he would climb the ladder dressed in silk and powdered in pearls, while men knelt before him—literally or figuratively, he didn't care. And if seducing half the noblemen in this kingdom got him the allies and influence he needed, then so be it. He was going to make even kings fall to him. Them?

"I'll live as Rosalee…"

They whispered so faintly it could have been the rustle of roses.

"But I'll do it my way."

He would be Rosalee Florenzia—but with his soul intact.

And what did Rosalee want in this life? The same thing Lollipop had always wanted—pleasure. Power. Hot men. And freedom.

Lots of freedom.

And Gods above, he was going to fuck his way to that freedom and happiness.

Ben trailed behind him a step or two, lost in a silence he couldn't explain. He kept stealing glances at the Second walking ahead—so confidently, so freely, so unlike the quiet, pitiful Rosalee of days past. Rosalee's red hair shimmered in the light, matching the vibrant blooms around them, and his posture had none of the shame or hesitation he used to carry.

It was disarming.

Ben frowned slightly, unsure of himself. He used to look down on Rosalee with cold detachment, used to think of him as a useless ornament, a tool for the family's ambitions. But now... he wasn't sure what to think. This new Rosalee was... dangerous. Not just to the family, but to Ben himself.

'What happened to you?'

He wondered.

'And more urgently, why do I want to know more?'

Rosalee's eyes sparkled as they turned back to Ben. The butler had gone quiet again, seemingly at a loss for what to say. He stood a little too stiff, like he didn't know where to put his hands. His chestnut-brown hair was tousled just slightly from the breeze, and the way his pale green eyes kept flicking away then darting back—like he didn't want to look but couldn't help it—tickled Rosalee to their core.

'Oh, darling. I think you're falling.'

And they hadn't even started yet.

They stopped in front of a marble bench, set beneath a rose-covered pergola that cast shifting shadows over Rosalee's pale face. Rosalee turned, face lit with a pleased little smile, and that smile made something twist uncomfortably in Ben's chest.

He felt... smaller somehow. Less in control.

For the first time, he didn't know how to respond.

Rosalee leaned forward slightly, just enough to let his presence wash over Ben like silk and perfume.

"You've been quiet…"

They said smoothly, voice like melted honey.

"A little flower-struck, maybe?"

Ben swallowed hard. He coughed and looked away, hiding behind a perfectly respectful tone.

"I was just admiring the estate's garden. It's rare to see someone enjoying it so… freely."

"Hmm. That's because everyone here's too busy scheming or suffering."

Rosalee replied breezily, spinning on their heel and continuing the stroll.

Ben stared after him, suddenly feeling like he was the servant on a leash, not Rosalee.

A change had happened. No—a transformation.

And Rosalee didn't walk like someone trying to break free anymore. They walked like someone who already had and was daring the world to try and bind them again.

"You're… different lately…"

Ben said, voice gruffer than he intended.

"I don't mean to offend, but…"

Rosalee tilted their head, smirking slightly.

"Different how?"

"You walk differently. Speak with more… authority."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"And you didn't flinch when Vixtia mocked you. You even corrected the maid's cosmetics. You—"

"Am no longer the pet Second to be trampled over?"

Rosalee finished for him, voice like silk edged in thorns.

Ben didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked out over the roses, jaw clenched.

Rosalee took a step closer, arms loosely folded, hip cocked.

"Does it bother you, Sir Bell? That I'm no longer meek and docile?"

"I don't know what it means yet…"

Ben admitted quietly.

"But I'm watching."

Rosalee let the words hang in the air, sweet and heavy. They liked that. Let him watch. Let him want. Let him wonder. He'd be a useful pawn. No—more than that. A double agent. One attached not by duty… but by desire.

They were already halfway there.

Rosalee turned back to the roses, closing their eyes for a long moment.

'Goodbye, Lollipop.

You were dazzling. You were broken. You were mine.

Now it's Rosalee's turn.'

The light hit them just right, casting a warm golden sheen across their red hair and soft, pale cheeks. The loose strands framed their face like velvet ribbons. They looked beautiful. Untouchable. Dangerous.

Ben saw it too.

And he suddenly felt like he was seeing Rosalee—truly seeing them—for the first time.

His pulse fluttered. And for a moment, he wondered if it was admiration… or warning.

Maybe both.

Ben exhaled slowly as he averted his gaze, his thoughts tangled with strange feelings he couldn't quite name.

He glanced back at Rosalee, watching them tilt their head toward the sunlight, red curls cascading over one delicate shoulder. There was no trace of pity in Ben's thoughts now—only a growing curiosity.

And maybe something else.

He didn't like it. It unsettled him. The sudden need to protect someone who was no longer defenseless. The urge to look closer.

Rosalee, for their part, had noticed.

They watched Ben from beneath lowered lashes, noting the way the man stiffened when their eyes met, the faint flush still lingering in his ears. That morning's little accident—Ben walking in on them while they stood nearly naked in front of the balcony—had given Rosalee far more information than a dozen interrogations. Ben was the type who pretended to be composed but wasn't immune to temptation.

'Interesting.'

Rosalee thought, lips curling.

He plucked a rose from a nearby bush, careful to avoid the thorns, and sniffed it thoughtfully.

"Tell me, Sir Bell…"

They said, voice airy.

"Do you enjoy working here?"

Ben blinked, startled by the question.

"I serve the Florenzia house loyally, as I was trained to do."

"Mmh."

Rosalee rolled the rose stem between their fingers, watching the petals dance.

"You always answer like a textbook."

Ben stiffened.

"Is that… unsatisfactory?"

"No…"

Rosalee murmured, brushing the rose under their chin.

"Just… expectant."

Ben didn't know what to say to that. So he remained silent, standing among the roses as if waiting for an ambush that never came.

The moment stretched between them—heavy with unspoken things, fragile and strange.

Rosalee looked down at the rose in their hand, then over their shoulder at the sprawling manor in the distance. The Florenzia estate, so grand and cold, loomed like a painted cage.

'Not for long.'

They thought.

They tucked the rose behind their ear and turned back toward the house.

"Come, Sir Bell. I've gotten my morning walk. Let's not dawdle."

Ben followed. He didn't know why his chest felt tighter than it had that morning.

And Rosalee? They smiled as the two made their way back, confident the seeds he planted would soon bear very, very tempting fruit.

Maybe that was what made Rosalee so captivating. A garden of roses—lovely, intoxicating, and oh, so full of thorns.

And somewhere, hidden behind rose-scented laughter and gliding steps, Rosalee smiled beautifully and sinfully bright. The stage was his again.