5. Silver blossoms
Silver blossoms
As the sun climbed high into the sky, spilling golden light over the vast city and into Sorcha’s room, she slowly blinked and stretched, every bone in her body creaking with stiffness.
She forced herself into the bathroom for a bath, savoring every moment because she knew this would be the last time—probably for a long while—that she’d have a proper soak.
After emerging from the bathroom, a soft knock sounded at the door, then creaked open a little.
“Miss,” an older woman’s voice called from the doorway. “Miss Sorcha, Maelan is waiting for you in the courtyard.” Before Sorcha could respond, the door closed.
Sorcha quickly dressed and hurried through the halls to stand beside Maelan in the main courtyard.
A massive tree stood at the heart of the kingdom, looming before them.
It looked exactly like the one from the lake last night.
Its silver leaves rustled in the soft breeze, their glow subtle in the afternoon sun.
Sorcha inhaled deeply. Behind her, she could hear thousands of voices murmuring as she gathered herself to turn and face the crowd.
A sea of feline eyes watched her with curiosity and expectation.
He whispered quickly to her, “I should have told you earlier, but we have to do this ceremony. You need to put your hand on the tree. If it rejects us and dies, we don’t get married.”
Sorcha glared at him and snapped back in a whisper, “What? What do you mean, Maelan?”
“Just walk up to the tree and put your hand on it. We’ll deal with whatever happens next.”
Maelan stepped forward, his voice resonating through the assembly. “For generations, the tree has blessed the Cait Sidhe, forging a bond between our people, our magic, and our future. It does not deceive. If the union is genuine, the tree will respond.” He let the implication linger.
Sorcha now understood his meaning: it would be over before it even began.
Her palms grew clammy, as she turned toward the colossal tree.
Its roots plunged deep into the earth, its thick branches spreading wide above.
Maelan offered a subtle nod as he moved aside, indicating this moment was hers alone.
Glancing at him, she narrowed her eyes and whispered as she passed, “Thanks for the heads-up.”
Maelan simply smiled.
Her footsteps echoed in the courtyard as she approached the tree, her fingers brushing its bark.
She whispered to it, “Please let this work.”
She touched the tree, but nothing happened. Moments passed, and she could hear the crowd’s whispers intensifying.
“Please,” she pleaded.
Just then, a jolt coursed through her, a warmth like ancient magic stirring beneath her skin.
The silver blossoms brightened, and the tree shimmered, radiating a light that rivaled the stars, washing over the courtyard in soft, luminous waves.
The Cait Sidhe gasped, murmurs rippling through the assembled onlookers.
Then, the markings appeared: charcoal silver lines unfurling across her arms, snaking up to her shoulders, merging seamlessly with the runes that had always adorned her.
The patterns, feline and elegant, mirrored Maelan’s own, as if the tree had claimed her.
Sorcha drew a sharp breath; the transformation wasn’t finished.
A tingling sensation touched the tips of her ears.
When she reached to touch them, her breath hitched—they were subtly pointed.
Not exaggerated like some Fae, nor furred like the Cait Sidhe, but unmistakably Fae.
The whispers swelled into cheers as a stunned Sorcha turned back to Maelan.
His silver eyes met hers, holding a flicker of awe before his expression settled into calm command.
As the cheers and murmurs swelled around her, Sorcha’s gaze found Kyron.
He stood at the edge of the crowd, half shrouded in shadow.
The darkness shadowed his face and rigid posture, but the flicker of emotion in his eyes struck her, a mix of disbelief, frustration, and hurt.
Before she could move toward him, he turned and disappeared into the sea of onlookers.
Maelan took a step forward; excitement and confusion rippled through the square as the announcement echoed: “There will be a wedding in two days’ time.”
The suddenness of the declaration left some unsettled, while others buzzed with anticipation. “I am doing this in haste,” Maelan continued, acknowledging the crowd’s hesitation. “And I have been gone for some time, but with my return, I bring you our queen.”
A hush fell over the square, the murmurs of uncertainty replaced by a profound silence.
Maelan then turned, his eyes finding Sorcha’s.
He interlaced his fingers with hers, lifting their joined hands into the air.
A wave of cheers erupted, followed by loud applause, as many celebrated the news with excitement.
A few, uncomfortable with the turn of events, quietly turned away, unwilling to challenge him openly.
Sorcha thought about what Maelan said: these would be the ones she’d have to watch, win over.
The ones who’d challenge her authority if given the chance.
She was used to the heat of battle, but this was different.
This was a fight waged with fake smiles, hollow confidence, and words twisted into a strategic game.
The crowd scattered the moment Maelan’s decree settled; the kingdom jolted into motion.
Some rushed toward the castle, their voices raised in excitement and urgency.
Others darted between stalls, already gathering silks, flowers, and golden trinkets.
Someone pressed a delicate silver chain into Sorcha’s palm, a gift.
Another handed her a small carved pendant, etched with runes for strength and fortune; she had them placed on her bracelet as the woman said, “May your reign be long and prospers.” Sorcha heard a snicker from a soldier in the courtyard who turned away from her.
He turned to her, eyes filled with excitement. “Well, Firelight, you certainly know how to make an entrance.”
“I didn’t exactly plan this.” She said cautiously.
His tail flicked lazily behind him. “No, but I knew it was meant to be.”
She shot him a look, but before she could bite back a response, he stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough for only her to hear. “I have to see to the castle; there are matters to arrange before the ceremony. I’ll meet you later.”
“Oh, you’re just leaving me to fend for myself?” she teased.
He smirked. “Think of it as practice.”
He leaned in and whispered, his lips kissing the outer shell of her ear.
“Try not to get caught,” he murmured, his smirk deepening. And just as he turned to walk away, he added, “Tell him I said hi.”
Sorcha exhaled, glaring at his audacity, but he wasn’t wrong. She needed to find Kyron.
She found him at the far edge of the city, sitting at the base of a tree.
The revelry was distant here, the music fading into the rustling leaves, into the quiet hum of nature untouched by the kingdom’s frenzy.
Kyron was still, staring blankly ahead with his arms braced on his knees.
She stood watching him for a long breath before stepping forward and placing a hand on his shoulder.
He flinched, muscles tensing before he realized it was her.
“Sorry,” she murmured, sinking down beside him.
Kyron didn’t respond.
“I’m still me,” she mumbled.
Kyron gave a low, humorless laugh. “Are you so sure of that?”
He paused, looking out over the fields of gently swaying flowers.
Small purple butterfly’s flittered about, and a pink squirrel-like creature with tiny horns curled upon its head munched on a berry-colored petal.
Kyron watched it intently, tossing it a silver blossom.
It greedily snatched it up and scurried away.
“You have a kingdom now, Sorcha. You have people who will depend on you. A title.” His jaw clenched. “You’re not just you anymore.”
She reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his. “I haven’t changed, not really,” she insisted. “What we’re doing hasn’t changed. We still have a mission, a war to fight. This doesn’t erase that.”
Kyron finally looked at her.
“This doesn’t erase it,” he drawled. “But it changes everything.”
He reached out and touched the points of her ears, tenderly moving her hair as he always did.
Kyron just stared at her and then slowly he squeezed her hand in return.
She leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek.
Kyron went rigid beside her, his muscles so tight he might as well have been carved from stone.
His breath came out trembling, and suddenly he was grabbing her face, fingers splaying across her jaw, rough and shaking.
He pulled her in and kissed her without care or caution.
His tongue swept in, and she returned the intensity of the kiss.
One hand in her hair, the other curled around the back of her neck, holding her still as if she might disappear if he didn’t.
The sound of quiet conversation and heavy footsteps caught Sorcha’s attention, and her body went rigid when she heard them draw nearer, a flicker of movement in her periphery.
Kyron didn’t have time to react before she ripped herself from his grasp as she scrambled upright.
She smoothed her shirt, willing her breath to steady.
Forcing composure back into her body just as a pair of Cait Sidhe strolled past, nodding at her with polite smiles.
Kyron exhaled behind her, his breath still uneven.
“We should go,” she murmured, keeping her voice low.
Kyron didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was rough. “Yeah.”