Briar reached for it, but Ferria pulled it back. "There's a price.”
There always was.
"Tomorrow morning, you leave quietly. No dramatics. No escape attempts. No letting Arion risk his entire court with some misguided rescue mission." Ferria's expression hardened. "He would, you know. Try to protect you. And Eliam would burn this entire sanctuary to ash for the insult."
"That’s all you want?"
"That's the bargain." Ferria extended the leaf.
Briar didn't take it yet. "How do I know it even works? How do I know this isn't some elaborate trick?"
"You don't." Ferria's smile was sharp. "But what choice do you have? Tomorrow you return to Eliam either way. This at least offers you a chance at answers."
"Why help me at all? You don’t even like me."
"Help you?" Ferria laughed, the sound bitter. "I'm not helping you. I'm protecting my home and the people in it. Arion would throw away everything we've built here on some noble gesture to save you. He'd challenge Eliam, attempt some foolish rescue, and get everyone killed in the process." Her eyes hardened. "I'll do whatever it takes to prevent that. If giving you this leaf ensures you leave quietly, without his interference, then it's a small price."
"So I'm just damage control."
"You're a threat to be managed." Ferria's honesty was brutal. "Take the leaf or don't. But remember, when Arion offers to help tomorrow, when he suggests some last-minute plan, their lives hang on your refusal."
The weight of her words settled on Briar like a shroud, heavy and unwanted. She thought of the children playing in the halls, of Marta's kindness, of all the refugees who'd found safety here. Happiness.
She took the leaf. It felt heavier than it should, warm against her palm. "I promise to leave quietly. No dramatics."
"Good." Ferria stepped back. "Remember—their safety depends on your silence about this conversation. About the leaf. About everything I've told you."
She melted into the garden shadows just as footsteps sounded on the path.
"Briar!" Arion appeared around the hedge, slightly out of breath. "I'm so sorry. The council ran impossibly long, and then Garrett needed..." He paused, taking in her appearance. The morning light caught the seafoam dress, making it shimmer. "You look lovely."
Heat touched her cheeks. "Thank you. How was the council?"
"Tedious. Circular. The same arguments we've been having for two days." He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that made him look younger. "Would you like to head to the library? We could continue researching."
"No." The word came out sharper than intended. She softened her tone. "I mean, I don't think the answers we're looking for are in old books. And it's my last day here. I'd rather... I'd rather see your court as it really is. If that's alright."
At first he looked surprised, before understanding blossomed into something warmer. "Of course. There's actually something I'd like to show you, if you're interested."
She tucked the leaf carefully into a hidden pocket of the dress. "Lead the way."
They walked in comfortable silence through the gardens and beyond, past the cultivated areas into wilder growth. The path narrowed, winding upward through trees that seemed older, less touched by fae manipulation. Birds called overhead, real birds making real sounds.
"Almost there," Arion said as they crested a small hill.
The trees opened to reveal a simple wooden bench positioned at the valley's edge. Nothing ornate or magical about it, just weathered wood that had seen seasons pass. But the view stretched for miles. The entire valley spread below them, Arion's courtnestled among the trees, the river winding through it all in silver ribbons. Mountains rose in the distance, their peaks already touched with snow.
"This is where I come to think," he said quietly. "When the council argues in circles, or when the weight of other people's expectations gets too heavy." He gestured to the bench. "It's nothing special, but—"
"It's perfect," Briar said, and meant it.
They sat together, not quite touching but close enough that she could feel his warmth. The morning sun painted everything gold, and for a moment she could pretend this was her life, sitting in peaceful places with someone who didn't see her as property.
"What do you think about?" she asked.
"Who I might have been. Where I came from. Why I woke in that grove with golden flowers and no memories." He leaned back, eyes on the horizon. "Sometimes I think not knowing is a mercy. Other times it feels like drowning in reverse—too much air and no idea how to breathe it."
"That's a lonely way to live."
