The late afternoon sun bathed the Carlton estate in a golden glow, casting long shadows across the perfectly manicured hedges and sprawling courtyard. A gentle breeze carried the scent of lavender and roses, mingling with the faint buzz of insects flitting from bloom to bloom.
This was the kind of garden where a girl could sit under a parasol and sip tea without a care in the world—if she were the kind of girl who belonged there.
Queenie Weston, or Q as everyone called her, dangled from the lowest branch of an apple tree, her knees hooked precariously over the rough bark. She squinted at a pale blue beetle scuttling along a leaf, a small jar clasped in her free hand.
"This one's a beauty," she muttered, twisting her body awkwardly to trap the bug. Her fingers grazed the leaf, and with a triumphant grin, she flicked the beetle into the jar. "Gotcha!"
"Q," came a calm, measured voice from beneath her. "Do you think you might act your age, just once?"
Q tilted her head upside down, peering at Madeline Carlton—or Maddy, as Q insisted on calling her, despite her protests.
Maddy sat beneath the shade of an ornate garden chair, her posture flawless as she turned a page in her thick, leather-bound book. A delicate china teacup rested on a saucer in her lap, the tea inside still steaming. She looked every inch the refined daughter of the town's mayor, from her neatly pinned blonde curls to her spotless white summer dress.
"Act my age?" Q snorted, swinging back up into a sitting position, her red curls a mess. "I'm eighteen, Maddy. Pretty sure that means I can catch bugs whenever I want."
Q held up the jar, grinning.
"Besides, this one's for Mr. Havers. He's gonna flip when he sees it. Rare beetle, he says, brings luck to a farm."
Maddy's brow arched ever so slightly. "Somehow, I doubt a 'rare beetle' will bring your farm more luck than, say, mended fences or fewer foxes in your henhouse."
"Shows what you know," Q shot back, sticking out her tongue. She unhooked herself from the branch and landed with a graceless thud, brushing dirt off her patched skirts. "Not everything has to be practical and boring, like reading all day."
Maddy didn't respond immediately, instead lifting her cup to her lips with a slow, deliberate grace. She set it back down before speaking, her voice unhurried. "I don't read because it's boring, Q. I read because it expands my understanding of the world. You should try it sometime."
"Oh, sure," Q drawled, crouching in the grass to poke at a line of ants marching near the stone path. "Let me just run to the library and ask them for a book on how to dig up potatoes faster."
Maddy sighed, setting her book aside with the air of someone forced to tolerate far more than her fair share of nonsense. "You're impossible."
"And you're too perfect."
The two of them couldn't have been more different if they'd tried.
Q's wild red hair was forever falling out of its loose braid, her hands and skirts perpetually smudged with dirt. Her speech was quick and unfiltered, every word tumbling out as if she might choke on it if she didn't let it free. Maddy, on the other hand, was a portrait of poise, not one loose strand out of her golden hair. Her words were chosen with the same precision she applied to every aspect of her life, each one carrying an air of dignity that made even her most mundane observations sound important.
But despite their differences, or perhaps because of them, they had always been inseparable.
That was why Maddy's next words hit Q like a slap.
"Q," she began carefully, brushing nonexistent lint from her skirt. "I received a letter this morning."
Q perked up, brushing her hands on her apron. "Yeah? From who?"
Maddy hesitated, which immediately set Q on edge. Maddy never hesitated.
"From the Royal Ascension Princess School."
For a moment, the words didn't register. Q stared at her, blinking slowly. "The what now?"
"The Royal Ascension Princess School," Maddy repeated. "You know—the academy for training Princesses. And well, they've accepted me."
Q's jar slipped from her fingers, landing with a dull thud in the grass. "You're kidding."
"I'm not." Maddy straightened her back, as if bracing herself. "I leave at the end of the week."
The weight of her words crashed down on Q all at once, leaving her breathless. She sank to the ground where she stood, her legs folding beneath her like a broken marionette.
"You're leaving?"
Maddy frowned, her composure faltering for the first time. "Q, don't—"
"You're leaving me?"
Q's voice cracked, and suddenly, tears were spilling down her cheeks, hot and uncontrollable.
Maddy stood, her movements as smooth as ever, and stepped toward her friend.
"Don't cry," she said firmly, though her tone softened as she knelt beside Q. "It's not forever. We can write letters—"
"Letters?" Q interrupted, wiping her face with her sleeve. "How's a letter supposed to replace—this?"
Q gestured wildly around the courtyard. "Our time in this garden? The bugs? You bossing me around like some old hen?"
Maddy couldn't help a small smile at that.
"It's not as though I want to leave you behind," she said gently. "But this is important, Q. You know how beneficial it is for someone to be accepted at RAPS. It's the opportunity of a lifetime."
"For you," Q muttered, her voice thick with tears. "Not for me."
Maddy sighed, sitting back on her heels. For once, she didn't have an answer.
The silence stretched between them, broken only by the rustling of the garden's hedges and the distant chirp of crickets beginning to wake. Q sniffled, her fingers clutching a fistful of grass.
"Maddy," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "What if you forget me?"
The question made Maddy's heart ache in a way she didn't expect. She reached out, taking Q's hand in her own.
"Don't be ridiculous," she said, her voice steady despite the lump in her throat. "I could never forget you, Q. You're—well, you're you."
Q blinked up at her, her teary eyes wide and searching.
"Yeah, but you're gonna meet all those fancy Princess girls. And I'm just…" She gestured to herself, her dirt-streaked face and patched skirt. "This."
Maddy smiled softly. "You're my best friend. And no Princess, no matter how fancy, could ever change that."
The words were kind, but they couldn't erase the ache in Q's chest. Deep down, she knew that everything was about to change. The life they'd shared—their laughter, their adventures, their friendship—it was all about to be split in two.
And yet, as the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the garden in shades of amber and gold, Q couldn't bring herself to let go of the small hope that maybe, somehow, they'd find their way back to each other.
Even if the world was about to pull them apart.