CHAPTER 90: SOMETHING IN THE GARDEN OF LILIES

The vow settled in his chest, heavier than his pain.

The infirmary door creaked then, breaking the silence. A guard peered in, bowing his head when he saw the prince awake.

"Your Highness. Shall I summon Her Majesty?"

Caelith hesitated. He knew what it would mean—panic, fury, and warlike questions neither kingdom was ready to answer. But Evelisse stirred faintly beside him, whispering something broken in her sleep. His heart clenched.

"...Not yet," he said softly, voice hoarse. "Let her rest. Tell no one I woke."

The guard nodded, withdrawing quietly. Caelith leaned back, closing his eyes again, but rest did not come. Only resolve.

He would endure this pain. But he would not let Evelisse suffer again.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Morning came slow, ushered in by the pale gleam of sunlight slipping between tall infirmary windows. The healers moved in hushed voices, checking Caelith’s bandages, leaving bowls of broth on a side table.

Evelisse finally woke when one healer adjusted her blanket, blinking sleepily, before realizing her hand was still clasped tightly with Caelith’s.

Her cheeks flushed pink, but she didn’t let go. Instead, she leaned closer, whispering in the soft respectful tone she always used with her family.

"Caelith... you are awake?"

His silver eyes opened slowly, exhaustion weighing them down. But when he looked at her, a faint smile tugged weakly at his lips.

"I couldn’t stay asleep. You... were holding me too tightly."

She gasped softly, pulling back slightly though she didn’t release him fully. "I-I apologize. I only thought... if I let go, you might—" Her voice trembled. "—disappear."

His smile grew faintly, though it was laced with pain. "Then you’ll have to keep holding my hand. Just in case."

Her lips parted, stunned, before she ducked her head. "You should not jest when you are injured."

Caelith closed his eyes briefly, letting her words settle into his chest like balm. His secret—his growing affection for her—was one he could not voice aloud. Not yet. Not when kingdoms, crowns, and fragile peace hovered over them like a sword. But in these fleeting moments, with her hand in his, he let himself feel it.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

The next day dawned gray and hushed. Evelisse was carried to her chambers under the watch of four guards.

Her brothers had tried to comfort her in their ways—Lucien’s steady hand on her shoulder, Jared’s awkward attempt at a joke, Felix nearly weeping alongside her. But none of it reached her. Not truly.

Now she sat on her bed, her hands folded tightly in her lap. A female guard stood near the door, eyes sharp, armor gleaming. Another pair lingered outside. Evelisse felt the weight of their presence more than the silks draped around her bed.

It was suffocating.

Fluffy hovered near the windowsill, glowing faintly. Its eyes were fixed on her, patient, waiting. Evelisse turned her face away. She would not forgive it—not yet.

Her mind spun back to what she had seen before—the older version of herself, the cracks of light tearing her apart, the words that still haunted her dreams.

Marcus.

Gentle Marcus, who spent more time in gardens than in halls, who sang to flowers when no one else listened. Who smiled at her with warmth instead of teasing like Jared or Callum.

The thought of him bleeding, his songs silenced, carved a hole in her chest.

’I won’t let it happen. I won’t,’ she told herself fiercely. But the shadow’s words echoed too, mocking. "You are the one we need."

Her fists tightened against her skirt. She was only seven. She had no sword, no magic strong enough to fight back, not unless given access by her system.

’Stupid conditions! I’ll get stronger on my own terms."

And yet, every path kept circling back to her, as though she were a piece on a board she didn’t understand.

Fluffy drifted closer, the faint hum of its magic brushing her ear. She ignored it. Her jaw set, her small chin lifting with the kind of dignity she had been taught to uphold as a princess.

If she spoke now, she knew her voice would crack, but she whispered anyway. "I will protect Marcus. Even if it means breaking rules. Even if it means..." Her voice wavered. "...changing what was meant to be."

The guard by the door shifted but did not comment. Evelisse fell silent again, retreating into her thoughts.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

In the Queen’s chamber, the air was colder than the stone walls.

Seraphina stood by the window, staring out at the mist curling across the gardens. Her reflection in the glass was pale, drawn tight. Behind her, Lucien remained standing, arms crossed, his shadow long across the floor.

Lady Marwen knelt again, her shoulders trembling with the weight of what she had confessed.

"No one must hear of this, Your Majesty," she whispered. "Not yet. Not until we understand. If King Aldric learns, his wrath will fall not only upon our enemies—but upon ourselves."

Seraphina’s lips pressed thin, but she said nothing. Lucien spoke instead, his voice like iron.

"We cannot silence this forever. If another shadow infiltrates our halls, our enemies already know Florabelle is vulnerable. The question is whether we tell Father now—or keep it hidden and risk more slipping through and ruin father’s summit."

Silence stretched, broken only by the faint crackle of the hearth.

Finally, Seraphina turned. Her emerald eyes, usually warm, burned sharp with resolve.

"We’ve kept it hidden so far. Until we know more. Aldric must not be told—Elaris must not be told. If King Elros learns his heir was nearly slain under our roof, the treaty will crumble before it ever roots. And this war our ancestors bled to avoid will return."

Lucien’s jaw clenched. "And Evelisse? What do we tell her?"

Seraphina’s gaze flickered. For the first time, the mask cracked. She pressed her hand to her chest. "She is only a child. My child. I will not bury her under this weight."

But Lucien’s stare held steady. "The messenger already tried and possibly made a mark."

Those words landed like stones. Marwen’s breath caught. Seraphina closed her eyes, steadying herself.

"Then we tighten our walls as we have been doing. No one leaves, no one enters. The castle remains locked until I decree otherwise. And we begin searching—quietly. Every shadow, every tremor in the wards. We cannot miss the signs again."

Lucien bowed his head, but his fists were still tight at his sides.

And outside, in the garden below, the lilies Marcus tended swayed though no breeze touched them.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Back in the Queen’s chamber, Lucien stood at the balcony, staring down at the torch-lit courtyards where guards doubled their rotations.

Seraphina approached, her gown whispering against the floor.

"Speak," she commanded softly. "I see the questions burning in you."

Lucien exhaled slowly. "If Evelisse is the target, then why? She is but a child, with no training in the magical arts, no affinity to magic, no threat. Unless..."

"Unless what?"

His gaze hardened. "Unless there is something we do not know about her. Something they believe she carries."

Seraphina’s face tightened, but she did not answer. Instead, she whispered, "We cannot tell your father. Not yet. He would see only enemies and draw his sword against shadows. We must find truth before fury blinds us."

Lucien’s eyes flicked to her. "And if the truth is worse than fury?"

She did not respond.

The chamber fell quiet, until the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hall. A guard burst in, kneeling immediately. "Your Majesty! There has been movement at the garden wards. A disturbance. Faint, but undeniable."

Seraphina’s heart dropped. She turned sharply to Lucien, her voice no longer calm but edged with steel.

"Then it begins."

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

And in her chamber...

Gasp!

Evelisse choked out, her body trembling at what she perceived as a warning vision.

She startled awake from a restless half-sleep, her chest pounding. She had dreamed of Marcus’s garden—only the lilies were red, soaked in blood.

When she rushed to the window, clutching the curtains with trembling hands, she thought she saw it again in the moonlight.

A faceless shadow, standing among Marcus’s flowers.

Watching.

Waiting.

Evelisse’s eyes doubled at what she saw.

The shape did not move, but the stillness itself gnawed at her bones. Evelisse pressed closer to the glass, her breath fogging the pane. For one terrifying instant she thought the lilies bent toward the figure like subjects bowing to a king.

Then a firm hand caught her shoulder.