Chapter 14 – Petals and Shadows
Caelum did not sleep that morning.
He sat at the edge of the fountain in the western gardens long after the rest of the palace stirred to life. The fifth petal rested in his palm, no longer glowing. Its edges had dulled to an ashen gray, as if whatever power it once held had been drained the moment it touched him.
He turned it over slowly, carefully, afraid it might crumble to dust if he exhaled too hard.
There were too many questions now—too many whispers in his mind that didn't sound like his own thoughts.
The silver-haired girl—the one who looked like Lira but wasn't—her words had carved something into his memory. You're not their prize. You're their replacement.
What did that mean? Replacement for whom? For what?
He heard footsteps behind him.
"You missed breakfast," came a familiar voice. Vianne.
He glanced over his shoulder. She wore a sky-blue riding dress, her red hair tied up in soft loops. She held two muffins in one hand and a small basket of apples in the other.
"Again," she added with a pout.
He tried to smile. "My apologies. I had a… rough night."
She stepped closer, offering a muffin. He took it, grateful.
"You always look like you're thinking ten layers deeper than the rest of us," she said, plopping beside him. "It's mysterious. Kind of scary. But also cool."
He chuckled softly. "You think I'm cool?"
"Exceptionally," she said, grinning. Then she squinted. "Is that a dead flower petal?"
He quickly closed his hand.
"Just a keepsake," he said.
She tilted her head, clearly not buying it, but didn't press.
"Well, you missed the drama," she said brightly. "Seraphine almost slapped Maribelle at brunch. Something about a stolen shipment of velvet."
Caelum blinked. "That's... petty."
"Welcome to royalty," she sang. "Honestly, it was kind of impressive. Maribelle parried it with her fan like a sword fight."
He let the image settle in his mind. Even now, the palace seemed so filled with elegance and chaos, all spinning in perfect rhythm. But he was starting to see the cracks.
Something dark was happening beneath the silks and smiles.
And it was creeping closer.
Later that afternoon, Ardyn met him in the lower armory.
She tossed him a wooden practice sword. "We're stepping things up."
He caught it one-handed. "Are we?"
"You're being courted by seven nations. Someone's going to try and kill you sooner or later."
"Charming."
They sparred for over an hour. Ardyn didn't hold back, and Caelum, though still relatively new to swordplay, held his ground better than she expected. He had quick reflexes, good instincts, and a growing strength.
"You've got better footwork than most of the guards," she muttered. "Where did you learn that?"
"Dancing lessons," he said. "From the old innkeeper's wife. She said if I ever wanted to survive a gala, I needed to learn to step lightly."
Ardyn smirked. "Remind me to thank her."
They paused for breath, sweat beading across their foreheads.
"Who gave you the fifth petal?" she asked suddenly.
Caelum froze.
"You knew?"
"The shift in your eyes. You always look different when a petal arrives."
He hesitated. "It wasn't one of the princesses."
"Then we have a problem."
She sheathed her blade. "There are powers moving outside the royal circles. Someone wants you aware. Someone else wants you confused."
He thought of the silver-haired girl.
"She looked like Lira," he said quietly.
Ardyn blinked. "What?"
"Exactly like her. But colder. Sharper. Like a reflection twisted at the edges."
"A sister?"
"I don't know. Lira said nothing. Just that she wasn't a princess."
Ardyn ran a hand through her hair. "This isn't just politics anymore. It's myth."
That evening, as dusk painted the sky in violets and gold, Caelum found himself standing outside the music chamber.
He heard soft notes drifting from within—a piano, gentle and unsure.
He pushed the door open slightly.
Selene was playing.
She sat perfectly still, hands poised over ivory keys, her face composed. The music was structured, restrained, yet filled with aching tension—as if every note was fighting against its own order.
He didn't speak.
She finished the piece. The silence after rang louder than the music.
"You're not supposed to be here," she said without looking.
"I know."
"And yet you came."
He stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him.
"I liked the music."
She turned, finally meeting his eyes.
For a moment, neither said anything.
Then, softly: "You carry something different now."
He didn't deny it.
"What happens when all seven petals fall?" he asked her.
Selene rose from the bench. "You were supposed to be a symbol. Something the people could love. Something the kingdoms could point to and say, 'See? We agree on this.'"
She walked past him. "But you're too real. Too alive. And now we don't know what to do with you."
He turned to her. "And you? What do you want to do with me?"
She paused at the door.
"I'm still deciding."
And then she left.
That night, Caelum returned to his room to find a folded piece of paper on his pillow.
No wax seal. No name.
Just a drawing.
Seven thrones.
Six occupied by women whose faces he knew.
The seventh empty.
Below it, written in ink:
You must choose. Or someone else will.
He stared at it long into the night, the fifth petal resting beside the message, gray and cold.
And outside, in the orchard, something moved between the trees.
Something watching.