Chapter 21 #2
“Yes. Every time you want to improve, you’ll need to do exactly that. Until one day you can do with a single drop what you once needed a flood to accomplish.” He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
It was a terrible blow to her ego. She’d thought herself nearly the master of her magic.
To find out she was still a novice was deeply humiliating.
All those hours of practise and she’d barely scratched the surface.
She truly had wasted her life in not pursuing her wild magic.
How had the other women throughout history managed to seal Drakon?
Or was she the only one who had failed to train herself for her divine mission?
“How long can you use yours for?” she asked rather peevishly, doing her best not to glare at him.
“How bad are the injuries I’m treating?” he asked, unaffected by her pique.
“Life or death.” She raised her chin.
“Mine or someone else’s?”
She swallowed nervously. He’d saved her from death multiple times now—from the fever that nearly killed her to the attack by the shadow cat.
“Someone else’s.”
“Four to six hours,” he answered easily.
She envied him that strength. To be able to wield her magic for that long without pushing past her limit? All the glorious things she would be able to accomplish filled her head.
“And if it were yours?”
“Half an hour. One at most. And only if I don’t black out, lose my head, or get my heart ripped out.”
Bile rose in her throat.
“H-how can you be certain?”
She shouldn’t have asked. The question had slipped past her lips before she thought better of it. How else did one discover such grisly limits except by experiencing them, or close to? He frowned, looking away.
“My father was…determined to ensure I would survive what my brother had not. Unfortunately, in the years since his death, I’ve had more cause than I would like practising what I was taught.”
Aurora got out of her seat and put her arms around him. It was such a cruel, foolish thing to have asked and an even crueller fate to have suffered.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not.”
She pulled away, gaping at him.
“How can you say that? Your lessons sound little better than torture!”
He cupped her cheek and ran his thumb along her cheekbone.
“Because they allowed me to live long enough to meet you.”
Her heart stuttered in her chest at the sight of his smile.
“You’re a terrible flirt.”
“You think so? I consider myself rather adept.”
Her brows pinched as she looked up at him.
His childhood sounded like an endless nightmare.
She might have liked to console him further, or to let him speak about it, but it seemed he didn’t wish to dwell on his past. If he was determined to be in the present, then the least she could do was follow his lead.
“Isn’t that up to the person being charmed to decide?”
“Would you like to find out?” His gaze heated.
“Only if you can deliver.”
He took her hand in his, raised it to his lips and kissed her knuckles.
“I have a surprise for you.”
“Is it the silk ties? I’m afraid you’ve already tipped your hand.”
He grinned. “It’s better than silk ties.”
“Then lead on.”
Theron tugged on her hand, and she followed him through the palace corridors and out into the garden.
She’d only been in it once before. Tall trees provided ample shade to stone benches, hedges allowed for a modicum of privacy, and flowers in full bloom perfumed the air.
A pathway of flat stone cut the garden into neat sections, while a shallow stream and several ponds wended through.
“I’ve seen this too,” she teased.
“Not all of it, brat,” he chuckled.
As he led her further through the gardens, she realized he had not spoken lightly.
Whoever had planned, planted, and nurtured the palace gardens was an artist. Each section housed a wholly different tableau.
Whereas the garden at the entrance evoked serenity and invited one to relax on a bench underneath the welcoming shade, each garden thereafter was wholly different.
Some were rigid and exacting, executed in a complex mosaic of foliage and flower.
Others were almost brutally wild, as if daring the viewer to either keep to the winding path or set aside all concept of civilisation.
Interspersed were gardens dedicated to the showy and unique, the valuable and rare, and even some to scent and touch.
She recognized medicinal herbs, coveted perfume ingredients, and even a few species only ever depicted in ancient art.
Winding through them all were a set of ponds and miniature streams, charming little bridges over each along a narrow, cobbled path.
Fish and frogs darted to and fro, with birds singing overhead while bees and butterflies meandered between flowers.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, awed.
“I’m glad you think so.”
“Whatever you’re paying the gardener who planned all this, it’s not enough.”
He laughed. “I think they’re compensated quite well.”
“Well, double it. Or triple it.”
Whoever they were, they clearly loved the medium of their art.
“You like it that much?”
“It’s stunning. I want to spend a whole day just experiencing each garden. Will you introduce me to the person responsible?”
“I already have.”
She couldn’t imagine any of the people she’d met so far being the artist behind these gardens. None seemed to have the flair or eccentricities that often came with such genius.
“Really? Who?”
“If you close your eyes, I’ll take you to them.”
“Right now?”
He nodded. Aurora dutifully closed her eyes. Theron picked her up in his arms and began walking.
“Wait! I’ll miss seeing the gardens like this,” she pouted.
“You won’t miss much. We’re nearly there. Now, close your eyes.”
“What is the artist like?”
“A bit overbearing. Prideful. Passionate. And deeply in love,” he said, setting her down. “Keep your eyes closed until I tell you otherwise.”
She breathed in the scent of roses, and a feeling of nostalgia washed over her. She knew this fragrance. But that couldn’t be right. Aurora opened her eyes. The only other person present was Theron, and the small garden was positively overrun with rosebushes. Theron raised a brow at her.
“Ah, sorry, it’s just—”
“You couldn’t keep your eyes closed for even a moment?” He shook his head, eyes twinkling.
“I suppose this means I don’t get to meet the genius behind your gardens?” She bit her lip.
“Oh no, you do.”
When he didn’t say anything else and no one else appeared, her brows knit in confusion.
“You?”
“Me.”
“Impossible.”
“You think a king can’t also be a gardener?”
The idea of him covered in dirt and sweat, transplanting a delicate, temperamental fern was ridiculous, though parts of it held a certain appeal. Would he work in the near nude, as some labourers seemed to? No, she should put aside such thoughts. Why had he never mentioned this talent before?
“But…you never said…”
“Everyone needs a relaxing pastime, especially a king.”
A relaxing pastime? He must have sunk years into his gardens, decades even. This was art created by a master.
“That”—she gestured wildly at the gardens behind them—“is the result of no mere hobby.”
His smile widened.
“Come, this is your surprise. I’ve spent the last year cultivating a new variety.
Something as sophisticated and fragrant as it is hardy and enduring.
It is also magical in nature. This patch of garden has no protection from angry spirits, and yet it thrives.
The scent of this rose is enough to placate them.
” He plucked a blossom from the nearest vine.
When he presented it to her, she gasped.
She knew this flower; it hadn’t been a mistake.
“You spoke of a wedding ritual. A present for the day after the wedding. It’s late, but I want to honour that tradition with you.
When we plant the cutting, it will become the second such rosebush in existence.
I haven’t named it yet, but after today, I would have it named in your honour. I wish to name it—”
“The dawn rose,” she murmured, handling the beautiful, fragrant blossom.
Gold at the base of its petals, it quickly bled to orange, then pink and finally into crimson, just like a sunrise.
She’d seen it many times before. Indeed, there probably wasn’t a single Trisian of her time who didn’t know it.
Mothers embroidered it on the clothes of their children.
Suitors gifted the blooms as a romantic proposal.
The rosebushes grew over the garden walls of happy couples.
“How did you know?”
“I was…my parents named me after this flower. My father gave my mother a cutting the day after their wedding, and they planted it that night. I was born the same month it first flowered.”
“Our rose survives thousands of years?” He stared at the rose in her hands as if it were a miracle. Perhaps it was.
Our rose. Her heart warmed. She nodded.
“It has long been a symbol of enduring love.”
“Fitting then, that it is named in your honour,” he said, drawing close. “Will you accept this gift?”
“Yes, gladly.”
He took the rose from her and carefully removed the thorns before he tucked it behind her ear.
“Beautiful,” he said, his gaze devouring her.
“Thank you.” She blushed.
“But also…naughty,” he growled, unpinning his himation and tossing it on the ground. “I asked you to keep your eyes closed. And what did you do, Aurora?”
She kept her lips sealed as her heart leapt. Heat pooled between her thighs.
“You disobeyed me,” he continued.
“You should have asked nicer.”
She should have kept her mouth shut. A good girl would have. But in the end, it was far more fun to tease him. Especially knowing what he might do to her.
He laughed, pushing the hair back from his face, before his expression turned deadly serious.
“Are you in the mood to play?”
“Yes.”
“Shall I conquer you, my love?”
She nibbled on her lower lip. He remembered what she’d said on their wedding day. Her heart warmed for him once more.
“If you think you can,” she teased.
“Then strip. Now.”