When we returned to the carriage, Bertilak climbed up right away, but I paused by the door. “I’d like to go for a walk, if that’s all right. To clear my head.”

No one clamored over me at home, even when Daddy and I went out together. I needed to move. I needed a moment alone.

“Of course,” said the prince. He nodded at Bear. “Accompany her, please. Off the high street.”

The guard nodded and turned away. Sighing, I tramped after him across the cobblestones of the high street and over the town common, the placidly grazing animals a stark contrast to the tense silence between us.

“I got the sense I did something wrong back there,” I ventured.

Bear kept walking. “Why do you say that?”

“Well,” I began. “At the baker’s, everything seemed fine. I talked too much and was too friendly, so Perrault was horrified, but that’s normal. And then I don’t think I was supposed to accept the gift from the jeweler. I’m not a protocol officer, but common sense dictated I refuse that.”

“Right.”

I nodded, hurrying to keep up with Bear. “Good. But then—at the florist’s. Should I not have taken the flowers?”

“They were only flowers, I suppose,” he said shortly.

“Yeah, I’d think that, too.” I finally caught up to Bear, glancing at him sidelong. “But then why did everyone act so strange?”

Bear stopped short, studying me. “Flowers have meanings, you know.”

I thought of Perrault, yammering on about my clothes and their implications. I crossed my arms. “Everything has a meaning here.”

“With royals it does,” he said bluntly. “And this is an old country, with a long history.”

“So?” I demanded.

Bear furrowed his forehead, then looked away. “Bluebells are a sweet flower. They mean humility. And daisies mean innocence, so you can bet everyone watching liked that. Good omens and all.”

I nodded at him to continue. “Fine. So what did I do wrong?”

“The cowslips.” He narrowed his eyes.

I frowned. “The little yellow ones? I thought they were pretty.” I paused. “Was it because they were just a wildflower? I didn’t mean to offend the florist.”

Bear shook his head. “No. It’s just that cowslips—well.”

I covered my eyes. “I picked a flower that means death and destruction, didn’t I?”

“They have a . . . risky connotation,” Bear hedged.

I pulled my hands away from my face, wrinkling my nose. “What does that mean?”

“They are the symbol of choice for a rather—well, a rather reckless group.”

My mouth fell open in horror. “Criminals?”

“Not in England’s eyes.” Bear walked on. “Still, they’re enough to make His Highness worry.” He glanced back at me carefully. “You really didn’t know?”

I know nothing, I wanted to shout at him. Because I’m told nothing.

I just shook my head, demure and disappointed. Even Perrault would’ve had to admire my restraint.