The trees opened only because Carlos burned them.
Flames licked the sky as he stepped through the smoldering arch, his soldiers behind him—some silent, some still wide-eyed in disbelief. The fire had not harmed the forest around it. Only the passage. Only the barrier that dared stop him.
The Elves were waiting.
Armor woven from vine-steel. Skin ageless and pale as moonstone. And their eyes—
Their eyes burned with fury.
"You desecrated the gate," the lead elf hissed. Her crown was woven with living leaves, her hair like threads of silver. "You destroyed our mother's arms."
Carlos stepped forward, cloak dusted in ash.
"I walked through," he said. "I do not ask permission."
"You burned her."
"I warned you in my mind long before I stepped foot here. You did not listen."
His tone was even. Cold. He looked at the high elf with the same face he had given orc blades and traitor steel. As if to say: get lost, or get buried.
Behind him, the soldiers fanned out. They knew the look in his eyes now. Even those who once doubted had learned on the battlefield—this boy commanded like a storm.
The elves bristled. Their hands hovered near spells. Vines curled across the forest floor.
Carlos didn't move.
He'd imagined this moment. In his past life, it was the Elves who threw the mortal realms into war—petty vengeance for ancient sins. And now they stood again, pride bloated, memories long, wisdom short.
Long-lived, Carlos once thought, and yet they act like spoiled children.
His thoughts were steel now. There was no time.
The road back would take three days—maybe four if fate was cruel.
Seven days left. Only three to get the root. And one to speak.
If not, war.
"If I must speak," Carlos said, "I will speak today."
"And if you do not give me what I came for—" his eyes flicked to the forest—
"Then I will take it tomorrow."
The silence snapped tight.
—
Back in the palace…
Erevan woke up coughing blood.
The lilies were still there.
The scent stung his nose, coated the back of his throat like honey turned sour.
He turned his face away, hand trembling as he tried to sit up. Pain bloomed across his chest like flame. The healer caught him gently.
"Don't," she murmured. "You'll worsen the damage."
"I need to know…" Erevan gasped. "Carlos—"
"Carlos is alive," said the healer. "He left three days ago."
The king's shoulders sagged.
"Why didn't you stop him?"
Lumira's mouth tightened.
"I couldn't. Because when he carried you into my chambers, he wasn't a boy."
She remembered it still—how he kicked open the door. How he walked in like he'd done it before. His grip was too steady. His voice is too calm.
"There was… cruelty in his eyes. If anyone had dared to stop him," she said quietly, "he would have killed them."
Erevan looked down. "He's only fifteen…"
"But he carries something older," she said. "Something dangerous."
They were interrupted by a sharp knock.
The queen entered.
Cloaked in mourning black and garden-white, she moved like ice, all grace and authority. But Lumira saw the stone beneath the silk. The kind of mother who mourns the loss of control more than the child's pain.
"My son is resting," she said to Lumira coldly. "Don't agitate him."
Lumira clenched her jaw. "He's breathing poison, Your Grace. The lilies must be removed from the palace."
The queen looked at the flowers beside Erevan's bed, her expression unreadable.
"They are his favorite," she said softly. "They stay."
"Your son is dying," Lumira snapped. "He may not have ten days. These flowers are part of what's killing him."
Erevan looked away. His hand trembled as it reached for one of the lilies. Slowly, he pulled it from the vase, petal by petal, and let them scatter to the floor.
"They used to mean purity," he whispered.
"They still do," Lumira said, watching the queen with steel in her voice. "But the world doesn't care about meaning. It cares about consequences."
The queen turned without a word and left.
Lumira wanted to scream.
The king's lips were pale. His heartbeat slow and fragile. She had studied for decades. Learned to heal both kings and beggars. But all her knowledge meant nothing when politics choked the air.
If she had her way, she would burn every lily in the palace.
But she couldn't. Not unless the king commanded it. Not while his mother lingered.
---
That night, Erevan asked to be taken to the balcony. Lumira helped him, and though it nearly broke her to see him limp, pale and fragile—
His first question still made her ache.
"Do you think Carlos is cold at night?"
She didn't answer. Not with words. Just wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders.
This boy—this king—had murdered his own father for the crown.
And yet the first time he awoke from poison and near death—
He asked if his little brother was safe.
For that, Lumira swore she would never doubt him again.
---
Kave, meanwhile, was watching. Always watching.
The nobles were confined to the palace. The gardens cordoned off. Suspicion hung like a blade over every corridor.
And Kave, unlike the king, knew how to dig.
He watched which servants stopped speaking when he passed. Who changed cups. Who brought the lilies into the hall. He traced the wine back to its cask—and found that it hadn't been imported, but alchemically made.
Made inside the palace.
He was getting closer.
But danger was, too.
The snakes in the court were shifting.
And soon… one of them would strike again.