Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
The next court dinner loomed like a storm on the horizon.
In a day’s time she'd face those mocking faces again and navigate impossible rules with deadly consequences.
She’d spent the week holed up in her room, poring over the books with no more success than the first time.
Frustrated, tired and desperate for a change of scenery, Briar now wandered the walled gardens behind the conservatory, where the plants grew in neat rows and nothing screamed or tried to grab passing visitors.
Here, the flowers merely watched with quiet interest rather than hunger.
Nearly a week had passed since the kiss and she could still feel the heat of his mouth, still taste wine and possession. Each night had been plagued by dreams that left her restless and confused, waking with her heart racing and skin too warm.
Her lips still tingled with a phantom sensation whenever she let her guard down.
She paused before a cascading wall of flowers that seemed to glow with their own light. Delicate white petals tinged with pink at the edges, beautiful enough to make her forget where she was. Her hand reached out, drawn by their ethereal beauty.
"Don't."
The soft warning made her freeze. She turned to find the bark-skinned female who brought her meals each day, peeking out from behind a large stone planter. The servant's amber eyes were wide with alarm.
"Those are memory blooms," the fae said quietly, glancing around as if the flowers might be listening. "They show you what you desire most. But the price..." She shuddered. "You forget something precious in exchange. Something you'll only realize is gone when it's too late to reclaim."
Briar pulled her hand back quickly and the flowers seemed to quiver in frustration. "Thank you."
The fae nodded and turned to her task. The stone planter she’d been hiding behind needed moving and she was trying to shift it alone, muscles straining against the weight. As Briar watched, the female's grip slipped, and the planter tilted dangerously.
Briar moved without thinking, catching the other side just before it could crash down. Together they steadied it.
"No!" The fae's alarm was immediate. "You shouldn't! Someone might see!"
"Let them see." Briar adjusted her grip, helping guide the planter to its new position. "Where does this go?"
"Please, you don't understand. If his majesty knew I accepted help from you…" The female's voice trembled, lowering to a whisper. "You could be punished. We both could."
"For moving a planter?"
"For anything he decides deserves punishment." But despite her protests, the fae couldn't manage alone. After another moment of hesitation, she pointed to a spot near a trellis of night-blooming vines. "There. It needs to go there."
They moved it together in tense silence, the fae glancing constantly toward the garden paths. When they set it down, she immediately stepped back, wringing her hands.
"You should go. Before anyone sees."
"What's your name?" Briar asked, recalling the silence she had been met for the first time she asked. She wasn’t expecting a different response this time, but she felt compelled to ask.
The fae's eyes widened further but she said nothing.
"I'm Briar," Briar continued, keeping her voice gentle, recognizing the fear. "Though I suppose everyone knows that already."
Another long moment passed. Then, so quietly Briar almost missed it, the fae replied, "Seraphin."
"Seraphin," Briar repeated with a smile, the first genuine smile she'd managed in days. "Thank you for warning me about the flowers."
Seraphin studied her with those amber eyes, something shifting in her expression. Confusion, perhaps. Or wonder. "Why?"
"Why thank you?"
"Why risk punishment to help me? You gain nothing from it."
Briar thought of the red dress, the mocking fae, the kiss that still burned on her lips. "Maybe I'm tired of everything here being about gain and loss. Maybe sometimes kindness is just... kindness."
"Kindness." Seraphin said the word like she was tasting something foreign. "That's dangerous here."
"So everyone keeps telling me," Briar said, noting the dirt under her fingernails from the planter. Such a human thing. Such a normal thing. It made her feel more like herself than she had in days. Seraphin glanced at Briar again, that confusion still there.
"What could be worth this? What could be worth trading your freedom to him?"
"My sister." The words came out raw. "She's twelve. She's dying. Or was dying. I don't even know if..." Briar's throat closed. "My mother said he could save her. That he'd take me instead."
"Family." Something in Seraphin's expression softened and hardened simultaneously. "Always family. He knows exactly which chains are strongest."
"Are you trapped here too? Did you make a deal with him?"
Seraphin's expression grew distant, closed off. "That's not… we shouldn’t…"
"I’m sorry. You don't have to tell me. I just..." Briar gestured vaguely at the impossible garden around them. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one who didn't choose this."
"None of us chose this..." Seraphin admitted at last. "I was born into service here. My mother served the forest court, as did hers before her."
"So no bargain? You just... live here?"
"Where else would we go?" Seraphin's voice held quiet resignation. "This is our world. Our purpose." She paused, adjusting one of the plants in the newly placed planter. "Though it feels different now than when I was young."
"Different how?"
Seraphin seemed to consider her words carefully. "The rules were clearer then. You knew where the lines were." She shrugged, a small, barely perceptible gesture. "But perhaps I just understand less as I grow older."
Before Briar could ask what she meant, Seraphin's head snapped up, alert as a deer scenting danger. "Someone's coming."
"I don't hear anyone," Briar said, looking back in the direction Seraphin was watching.
"Go. Now." Seraphin was already gathering her tools, movements quick and efficient. "Please. If he finds us talking—"
But it was too late. Briar felt the temperature drop and a hush fell over the garden, as though it was holding its breath. Even before he rounded the hedge, she knew it was him.
Eliam emerged from between the night-blooming vines, and Briar's heart stuttered at the sight of him.
He wore burgundy today, the color of wine or old blood, the shirt open at the collar in casual disarray.
Black leather pants molded to his legs in a way that made heat crawl up her neck.
She jerked her gaze away, fixing it firmly on the wall behind him.
Soft boots, no crown, no formal layers, and somehow that made him more dangerous. More real.
Don't look, she told herself firmly, but her peripheral vision betrayed her, tracking the way he moved in those fitted leathers.
Her treacherous eyes kept drifting to the exposed skin at his throat, the casual confidence in how he wore such simple clothes.
No. This was her captor, not someone to—she cut that thought off before it could finish.
"Such dedicated interest in that wall." His voice held dark amusement. "One might think it had done something fascinating, or perhaps offensive."
Heat flooded her face as his eyes found hers, holding them for a moment before flicking to where Seraphin was trying to become invisible among the plants.
"My lord," Seraphin whispered, already dropping to her knees among the soil.
He didn't acknowledge her. His attention fixed on Briar with an intensity that made her skin prickle.
"Enjoying the gardens?" His tone was mild, conversational. The tone that meant danger.
"The plants are less aggressive here," Briar managed, keeping her voice steady despite her racing heart.
"Mmm." He stepped fully into the small clearing, and the flowers seemed to lean away from him. "And such interesting company you've found."
Seraphin pressed lower to the ground, trembling among the freshly turned soil.
"She was just—"
"Working. Yes. I can see that." His gaze never left Briar's face. "Though the planter seems to have moved. Heavy thing for one person to manage."
The words hung in the air, a test disguised as observation. Briar's mind raced. Deny it? Admit it? Either path led to punishment, just different kinds.
"The garden needed rearranging," she said finally. "The night-blooming vines were suffering in their previous position."
"Were they?" He moved closer, circling her slowly. Seraphin remained frozen, a trembling statue among the flowers. "And you've become an expert on my gardens now?"
"No. I just—"
"Just what?" He stopped directly in front of her, too close, forcing her to crane her neck to meet his eyes. "Decided to befriend the help? How... democratic of you."
"She warned me about the flowers. I would have touched them if she hadn’t."
"Memory blooms." His attention shifted briefly to the cascading wall of pink-tinged petals. "Pretty things. They'd have shown you your sister, most likely. Happy. Healthy. Laughing." His eyes found hers again. "Right before stealing the sound of her voice from your mind forever."
Ice flooded Briar's veins. "What?"
"Did you think the trade would be kind? A pleasant memory for an unpleasant memory?
" He reached past her, fingers hovering near the blooms. They swayed toward him eagerly.
"They show you what you want most, then take something equally precious.
Your sister's voice. Your mother's face. Your father's name."
"I didn't know."
"Because you're still thinking like a human." He pulled his hand back, attention returning fully to her. "Everything here has teeth, little thief. Even kindness."
His gaze flicked meaningfully to where Seraphin knelt.
"Speaking of which." He stepped around Briar, approaching the trembling servant. "Seraphin, isn't it?"
"Y-yes, my lord."
"Look at me."
The woman raised her head slowly, amber eyes wide with terror.