"Good." He rises from our bed with fluid grace, already reaching for the formal court attire that marks him as king even in private moments. "I have meetings this morning—correspondence from other courts about trade agreements and territorial boundaries. Terribly boring administrative work."
I watch him dress with appreciation for the elegant lines of his body, the way the flowing robes emphasize his broad shoulders while accommodating the unique anatomy that sets him apart from human men. Everything about him speaks of power held in careful check, of ancient authority that flows as naturally as sap through wood.
"Will you dine with me this evening?" I ask as he adjusts his ceremonial circlet. "We could use the smaller bower, make it intimate rather than formal."
"Nothing would please me more." His reflection in the polished wood mirror smiles at me with genuine warmth. "Wear the green silk dress—the one with the botanical embroidery. You look like a living garden in that gown."
After he leaves for his meetings, I take my time with my own morning routine, luxuriating in the gentle steadiness of my power rather than the overwhelming surges I've grown accustomed to. My lady's maid helps me into a practical walking dress of deep burgundy velvet, perfect for exploring the palace's extensive grounds.
I spend the first part of the morning in the conservatory where I first met Thorian, marveling at how the living glass—grown from crystallized tree sap—houses magical ecosystems that shouldn't be possible. Plants from different climates and seasons grow side by side, sustained by complex enchantments woven into the very walls.
But restlessness drives me deeper into the palace than I've ventured before. Down corridors where the walls pulse gently with life, past windows formed from translucent leaves that filter sunlight into rainbow patterns. The palace grows and shifts subtly around its inhabitants, passages widening to accommodate traffic, rooms adjusting their temperature based on occupancy.
My wandering eventually leads me to a section that feels older, more traditional. Here the architectural magic is less refined, creating interesting fusions where newer growth has been grafted onto ancient tree trunks. Flowering vines cascade from wooden balconies, their blooms releasing gentle phosphorescence that provides natural lighting.
At the end of a corridor lined with portraits grown into the living bark itself, I find a heavy wooden door that opens at my touch. Beyond it lies a garden unlike any other in the palace—moonflowers bloom in luminous clusters among ancient oak trees, their pale petals glowing with natural magic that makes artificial lighting unnecessary.
This place feels sacred. Forgotten. Deeply, profoundly sad.
I follow a winding path deeper into the grove, past flowers that seem to glow brighter as I approach, as if responding to the power in my blood. The Victorian-era iron benches placed at intervals along the path are elegant but show signs of weathering, as if they've sat here undisturbed for decades.
The path leads to a circular clearing where seven marble monuments stand in perfect formation, each surrounded by carefully tended flower beds. In the gaslight-free twilight of thegrove, they gleam like bone in the moonflower's phosphorescent glow.
Seven graves in a memorial garden hidden away from the rest of the palace.
My blood turns to ice as I read the first inscription:
My blood turns to ice as I read the first inscription:
Lyra Moonwhisper
Beloved Daughter of the Mist Court
Age 156
Selected for Divine Transformation: Spring Equinox, 1823
Ascended: 14 days hence
"She bloomed beautiful and brief"
Selected for divine transformation. The phrase tugs at something in my memory, but I can't quite place it. I move to the next headstone, trying to understand what I'm seeing:
Celeste Brightblade
Noble of the Summer Court
Age 89
Selected for Divine Transformation: Summer Solstice, 1824
Ascended: 6 weeks hence
"Her light burned too bright for this world"
A pattern emerges as I read through all seven graves. Each woman was selected for something called "divine transformation" during seasonal ceremonies. Each "ascended" within months of selection. The euphemistic language is beautiful but puzzling—ascended to where? Why are they buried here if they achieved some kind of divine status?
And why does "divine transformation" sound familiar?
