Aster looks up into a sneering face mere inches away from her own. 

A row of thorn-like teeth disappear as the apparition frowns, its head cocked to the side. Its eyes narrow discerningly, the black sclera framing its golden irises making its expression even more jarring. “You’re even more of an eyesore from up-close,” it mutters disdainfully.

It’s enough to shock Aster out of her previous stupor. 

Hale. Of all the things she had to encounter, it just had to be a spirit. And a rather rude one, at that. 

Bile rises in her throat as she registers the sickly sweet aroma surrounding her, only growing stronger and stronger. 

Roses. 

Aster resists the urge to gag. She stares back at the spirit, at a loss of what she should do. 

“As if inheriting her blood wasn’t enough,” the spirit mutters. “You had to look just like her too.”

Blood? Inheriting? 

It slips out of Aster unthinkingly. 

“What are you talking about?” 

She slaps her hands over her mouth instantly, as the spirit’s void-like eyes widen by a fraction. 

“You can see me,” it says.

Aster curses inwardly. She just had to open her big mouth and draw its full attention. Now what?

The spirit rises to its feet, the edge of its tunic fluttering. A red military coat complete with epaulettes is draped over its shoulders, layered on top of a flowing white tunic cut jagged at the knees. The front of its coat is decorated in an array of glittering finery: heavyset rings and shining cufflinks glitter beside jewelled earrings and statement necklaces, all pinned against the coat’s fabric like medals of honour. 

But it’s the circlet of thorns adorning its neck that clues Aster in on the spirit’s identity. Resting amongst the thorns against the spirit’s throat, is a single, Lucre rose. Prized by the royal family and worth its scent in gold; and the very same flowers she recalls adorning the maze’s entrance. 

“You…” Aster says haltingly. “You’re the spirit who guard’s the royal maze. Aren’t you?” 

The spirit gives her a considering look. “Perhaps that head of yours isn’t purely ornamental.”

“Uh… thank you?”

Every muscle in Aster’s body is drawn taut. She’s always been wary of spirits. It came from a childhood of running and hiding; not only from the needle-sharp words that people would throw her way, but also from the nasty tricks the spirits on the estate would pull on her. Despite her mother’s weekly ritual of offering them treats in exchange for dialling down on their mischief, Aster still found herself dodging acorns and untangling weeds from her hair more often than she’d like. 

The pranking had ceased once Damien began living on the estate, and that’s only after he’d overcome his initial hostility towards Aster and her family, and finally stopped treating them like they were threats.

“Tell me, little girl,” the spirit says, mouth splitting into that razor sharp smile once more. “How does it feel, knowing that your betrothed is in love with another?”

The words are a stab through Aster’s still sore heart. An image of Florian’s face floats through her mind. 

Loving. Affectionate.

Nothing at all like the way he looks at her. 

She fights back the lump that rises in her throat. “Is that why you’re here?” She says. “To rub salt in the wound? I figured you’d have more important things to do, no?”

The spirit sneers at her gleefully. “Nothing holds precedence at the moment, other than putting a nuisance in its place.”

Aster feels a chill run up her spine. Compared to the entity standing before her, the spirits she’d dealt with in the past were practically small fries. Forget tossing dirt at her or scattering leaves across her bedroom floor; this spirit looks like it’ll like nothing more than to wrap its circlet of thorns around Aster’s skinny neck.

“You look like the stubborn type, so let me put it into words for you.” The spirit begins to parade in a slow circle around her, steps lazy and mocking. “Your betrothed can’t stand the sight of you, the staff whisper about you behind your back, and let’s not even get started on that filthy blood of yours.” The spirit pulls a face, like it’s gotten a whiff of something particularly vile. 

“And what about it?” Aster tries for bravado, but her voice comes out small and shaky. 

“And what about it?” The spirit echoes mockingly, before letting out a cackle of a laugh. “I can’t tell if you’re truly a fool, or just much too adept at playing the part. Regardless, let me make it easier for you to understand.” 

Aster backs away as the spirit comes in closer. 

It grins, delighting in her unease. “You,” it says gleefully. “Are not wanted here.”  

Aster doesn’t know how it’s possible for her face to burn while her blood turns to ice. Even as the spirit takes another step towards her, she can’t bring herself to back away. 

“So here’s a suggestion,” the spirit continues. “Why don’t you make like the eyesore that you are, and leave this palace?”

For a second, all she can see is the wicked gleam of its mouth, her thoughts unravelling like a spool of thread. Subconsciously, her fingers manage to find each other, tangling together on instinct. 

Lace.

Unlace. 

Lace.

Unlace. 

A nervous habit. One familiar enough to make her remember her words. 

“You think I don’t know that?” She says, voice wavering more than she’d like. “That I’m not wanted here?” She looks down at her shaking hands. “I know that more than anyone else.” 

But… that isn’t completely true either. 

Because there are people in the castle who seem to like having her around. People like Fina, who day by day, is beginning to bring more of her guard down whenever she's around Aster. And Han, who always welcomes her cheerily whenever she pops by the tower for a visit. And…

Damien. 

Damien, who knows more than anyone else why she’s still here in the palace, even despite her absent fiancé and the gossiping staff. 

Aster takes a breath, steadying herself. “Even so, what does it matter?” She says. “Florian’s affair doesn’t make a difference. I’m still his betrothed. I’m still in the palace. And I will remain in the palace.” She holds the spirit’s gaze unflinchingly. “So long as our union still stands, I will fulfil my promise to marry him.”

The spirit smirks, unimpressed. “Even if he doesn’t love you?” 

“Does it matter?” Aster’s words are at odds with her still aching heart. But the spirit doesn’t need to know that. “I don’t see Florian annulling our engagement. So long as it holds, I will honour it.”

“How chivalrous,” the spirit says dryly. “And what of the rest of the palace? The people who whisper about you being cursed?”

Aster barely restrains a flinch. 

No, she can’t back down now. 

“I’ll change their minds.” She presses on, words getting surer and surer. “Every single person who ever doubted me. I’ll change their minds, and convince them that I am more than worthy to remain.” A hesitant pause. “Even you.”

The spirit’s eyes narrow into slits. “Even… me?” 

“Yes.”

“You?” It murmurs. “Winning me over?” It lets slip a bark of a laugh. “How novel.” Its gaze turns sharply on her, not a trace of humour in its voice. “Try your best, Vastein girl. And I will watch as every person you attempt to woo, throws your best efforts right back into your face.”

Aster does not look away. “Good,” she says. “Keep on watching me. And you’ll see just how I’ll prove you wrong.”

For the longest moment, the spirit merely looks at her, unsettlingly silent for the first time. 

“You,” it says finally, lip curling. “Are a nuisance.” Its eyes flash menacingly. “I knew I should’ve dealt with your mother when I still had the chance.”

Aster’s stomach swoops. 

“Wait, you knew my-?”

But the spirit is gone. 

Not with a bang or a poof or a cloud of smoke. Simply there one second and gone the next, not a whisper of it left in the place it once stood. All that remains is the reek of Lucre roses, still clinging to Aster’s skin.