In this kingdom, it is not a legacy passed down through a bloodline. Not even through a public vote. The magic that runs deep in the veins of the earth chooses each king at random. When the previous king dies, a mark carves itself into the skin of the new ruler. A man who would be king, yes, but also a man burdened by a deadly curse alongside his reign. An illness that they will inevitably suffer through painfully. Widowsbloom, however, carries enough magic to lessen the effects of the illness. But Aldric failed not only his people but himself when he overlooked the problems he was being warned of. And now there is no going back. Silence stretches between us as he moves back to his desk, taking a seat.
My mind wanders to Masen, to the choices made, mistakes that weren’t prevented.
“You have my loyalty,” I say at last. The king exhales, slow and satisfied.
“Good. I want updates daily. See me again tomorrow.” I nod at him before bowing and turning away. The weight of the conversation sits heavy on my shoulders.
I am a man of my word. I failed this kingdom before, and I will not fail it again.
Chapter 13
Elodie
I can’t do this.
Maybe I never truly believed I could.
I planted some ordinary seeds first. The kind that germinates quickly in any condition, in any season, they don’t even require watering.
They grew.
Then I planted some that demanded precision. Measured amounts of light and water.
They grew.
I planted a seed that was described as temperamental. Difficult and unforgiving, is what the scholars had written.
It grew.
But not even a whisper of green from the Widowsbloom, no curl of life, no disturbance in the soil.
Nothing.
And now I have only two seeds left. Apparently, I can grow anything except the one thing that matters. I reread all the research and used the techniques that even they thought were promising. Heated soil had shown a marginal response in their trials. But when I repeated it…
Nothing.
Collapsing into the chair at the workbench, I shuffle the notes mindlessly. I need a break, some air, some way to think about something other than this stupid plant. Glancing outside, I see Thomas sat on the benches in the outdoor garden, as he usually is. The cloak Rowan gave me to sleep in lies folded on top of the workbench. It’s as good an excuse as any. Grabbing it, I head out to meet him.
“Good afternoon, miss. Everything ok?” he asks.
“I need a break. And I need to return this cloak to the High Warden. May I please return it to his quarters and get some fresh air?”
“You may, but I will need to come with you.”
“I figured as much. That’s fine. Lead the way,” I say, gesturing ahead of me. Thomas gives me a quick smile before walking ahead back towards the castle entrance. Our footsteps echo softly against the stone floor, passing servants who avert their eyes. Guards stationed at intervals who give quick nods and greetings to Thomas. I lose track of direction quickly, knowing I am more reliant on following Thomas than I’d like to admit. Thomas slows, and then I hear it.
Deep, furious shouts and the sharp sound of smashed glass.
“Is that the king?” I ask Thomas, who is trying to push me down another route as I speak. I move on instinct, my curiosity getting the better of me.
“Miss, you can’t be here. Please, you need to follow me,” Thomas hisses under his breath, but I decide to ignore him.
The King’s voice carries through the corridor, sharper than when he first spoke to me.
Angrier.
Then I hear him.
