[QCrit] EMBROIDERED ROSES, Fantasy (romance?), ~90k, second attempt

About halfway through the (fully-outlined) WIP and have hit a writing slump, so I've decided to revise the query to get my brain back into gear. Thank you so much for your feedback last critique! I've tried to lesson proper nouns, use more universal terms, and show more than tell.

I am beginning to question my age range and genre at the same time-- the MS was initially YA, but with newer and more adult themes(?), I'll have to reflect on where it sits. I recently read a post on the sub about distinguishing the two and because I think The Jasmine Throne is adult and fits so well as a comp, I am leaning more towards this MS also being adult.

Also, this might be a dumb question (sorry!)-- because the MS features lovers to enemies and there is NOT an HEA, this would be not romance... right? Despite the MC's relationship being central to the plot? Accordingly, I've put the query through Aneesa's POV (to avoid the romance person a, person b, how they mix format).

Alright!! Query below... apologies for my anxious rambles and many thanks for your feedback in advance.

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Inspired by the beginnings of colonial India and the aesthetic of Bhansali films, EMBROIDERED ROSES is a dual POV Adult Fantasy exploring royal politics and secrets. This 90,000 word manuscript features queer lovers-to-enemies, generational burdens, and the unifying nature of music. Fans of Tasha Suri’s The Jasmine Throne will appreciate the South Asian court representation as well as the revenge-driven plot reminiscent of Renee Ahdieh’s The Wrath and the Dawn.

Aneesa plucked the strings of the veena before she spoke her first words, the language of music more powerful than any sentence. Now a musician in the Vajra court, she only knows the language of revenge. The city’s governor remains unaware that the young woman who graces his throne room with compositions that bring rain in the drought wants nothing more than to see him dead. Bloodline is more precious than gold, and as his bastard daughter, Aneesa is the rightful heir to his inheritance and ready to burn it all down so long as it means justice for her mother’s death.

But her plans are upended with the arrival of a runaway princess from the capital city who seeks shelter in the court musicians’ house. Sixth in line to the Anyirian throne, Roshni is timid, intelligent, and desperate to escape a marriage of alliance to the Vajran governor’s son. Roshni and Aneesa’s chemistry is instant-- undeniable, but complicated by growing civil unrest at the capital, borne from the princess’s disappearance and disdain towards a king who hoards grain as his citizens starve. Even as Aneesa falls for Roshni’s quiet charm and whimsy, she’s unable to ignore that the princess refuses to use her identity to unite Anyirah, determined to keep the freedom her anonymity in Vajra grants her. 

But unrest shortens her timeline– Aneesa must find proof of her inheritance before it’s taken away by potential civil war or the Anyirian continent’s neighbor, a warrior nation intent on depleting Vajra’s already dwindling resources. As the old rebels resurface and decade-long secrets are unearthed, Aneesa realizes that she’ll have to choose between the woman she loves, her city of birth, or the revenge that’s driven her every action for the last three years. 

I believe your interest in [personalization] aligns well with my work. EMBROIDERED ROSES is the story of two women choosing their own paths in a world made for men in destructive ways.

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First 300

Roshni

“You were so small, hardly breathing,” Amma intoned with a gravitas this evening, as if she had not recounted this story a dozen times before, looking heavenward, a small smile playing across her lips. Attendants hushed immediately, the too-warm breeze from open windows more obvious in the silence. “You came into the world just an hour before dawn, crying and shrieking as if you’d been dealt a great offense.” She leaned past her plate for the decorative wreath to pull out a marigold bud that had remained stubbornly shut. “Wound up, fists closed, eyes shut tight.” Her features were striking even as she imitated the moment: thick, dark lashes fluttering, delicate nose and lips wrinkled. The queen was a beautiful woman, no one could deny that. 

She opened her eyes, now, finding me staring down at my dinner, and waited until she had my attention before continuing. “When the sun poured through the window, illuminated your features, you sighed and opened your hands.” She pushed the bottom of the marigold with her thumbs and petals spread outwards, blossoming. “And thus, we named you Roshni, for the light you brought.” It was left unsaid in this version of her retelling, that the dry heat that had begun months prior had finally broken, but the damage it had done to the rice crop couldn’t be undone. Anyirah had begun its slow decline to famine.

Amma stared at me, smiling beatifically, waiting for praise on her story-telling and I mustered a wisp of smile, even as her attendants clapped politely. Salahkar Kalavathi, her advisor, refilled her water cup. “Very skillfully done, Maharani. You tell the story so well.”

Amma sniffed, finding the response adequate, but her eyes remained on me. “I have not heard from you, Phul. What is occupying your mind so that you cannot answer your own mother?”