“My High Warden will give you the information you require. You will have access to our glasshouse and all its resources.” My mouth feels dry, his voice feeling distant as fear takes hold of me. Kael and Rowan move towards me, the conversation clearly over. I turn back to the King, my tone panicked.
“But I don’t know about butterflies. You said yourself, I’m a plant scientist,” I stutter. “And I’m not really even that.”
“You do not need to be an expert in butterflies,” he says, turning to face me. “Just the plant they rely on to survive.”
I furrow my brow, waiting for more information. But I’m not given anything else before the King turns to Rowan. “I trust you can assist the botanist girl with her duty, High Warden?”
Rowan simply nods before giving a curt “Sir.” It appears I’ll be occupying his wing a while longer.
Both trapped in this arrangement.
At least one of us actually chose this castle.
I can’t imagine he is enjoying this either, though. A disruption to his normal routine. He is a man of very few words, and somehow those few words need to help me cultivate some magic plant in a land I know nothing about.
And if I can’t…
“Hawthorne,” Rowan’s voice cuts off my thought as I fall in step behind him. The walk from the King’s throne room is silent. A few weary glances pass between Rowan and Kael.
I know there is something there.
I just don’t know either of them well enough to get in the middle of it.
So I stay quiet. Quiet as Kael wishes us a good evening. Quiet as Rowan brings me food. Quiet again when he leaves me alone again, as he does every evening. I feel hollow, as though all the panic has finally burned itself out. I’m alone in a way I have never been before.
A knock thuds on my bedroom door. The warden. Here to take me to breakfast in the common hall. The air in the room is cold enough that it causes a sting in my lungs as I dress. Throwing on my overalls, I glance in the mirror at my pale skin. I can’t remember the last time I felt the sunshine on my cheeks.
My skin is drained of any colour.
My freckles are almost disappearing from my nose.
Even my hair looks darker. The vivid copper is now almost a dull brown.
I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and yank open the bedroom door. Rowan leans against the wall, his face down as he chews on his lip.
“I know my way to the common room, you know. I could just meet you there,” I say.
There’s no way he would let me, of course, but why not just test my invisible shackles anyway?
“You could. But you won’t. You’re a flight risk. Did you forget your little adventure to the gate?” Is he trying to be funny? As if my trying desperately to return home was just a little adventure for me. Did they expect me to just arrive here and choose to stay, like I don’t have an entire life back home waiting for me? Choosing to ignore him, I move past him towards the door.
“I’m hungry. Are we going now?” I whisper, crossing my arms over myself. He narrows his eyes at me. His jaw clenches once before he nods and steps ahead of me. Following behind him, I keep my head down and wait for instructions. Every day is the same. Breakfast, then back to the room with only a few dusty books to prevent my mind from spiralling.
Corridor to corridor.
One stone wall to the next.
But today could be different. I know it has something to do with the deal I am being forced into with the King, but I don’t care. Because at least I can find that small part of myself that I’d left behind at that ivy wall. I can get my fingers dirty, breathe in the fresh air that reminds me of who I am when everything is so uncertain. There is comfort in the weight of soil, in the way life responds when you give it time. When you nurture it. I have always found something so grounding about nature, especially in the trees. They stood long before humans ever did. Witnessed us light that first fire, forge our first weapon, build our first factory. Watched us use them, shape them, and then discard them. And still they remain. Leaves swaying patiently in the wind. I have a feeling they will still stand when there is nothing left to remember us by but the echoes of things we once thought mattered.
“Hawthorne, I said this way,” Rowan’s deep voice comes from ahead of me. The sudden sound of my second name drags me out of my thoughts. Rowan is standing ahead of me, looking irritated and on edge.
“I am not one of your knights, you know,” I say. “You don’t need to call me by my surname. Elodie is fine.” He ignores me, obviously.
We pass into the gardens, and they are nothing like the clipped lawns or ornamental bushes I had pictured when the King had told me I could access the area.
Ivy weaves unchecked over ancient stone, threading its way up arches and columns as though the castle has been quietly surrendering itself for centuries. Statues half-consumed by green, their faces softened by time, watching in patient silence. The paths are uneven, darkened by moisture. The grey sky, a constant blanket, wrapped around the castle.
