CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The Queen's Garden
The meeting with the King went better than Nera had dared hope.
She had expected interrogation—careful questions designed to uncover her secrets, to probe for weaknesses, to determine if she was worthy of a prince's love. She had prepared answers, half-truths wrapped in evasion, the kind of verbal fencing she had perfected over a thousand years of court politics.
Instead, King Aldric asked about her garden.
"Orion mentioned you grow things," he said. They were in his private study, the same room where he'd spoken with his son the night before. Morning light streamed through tall windows, gentler than the fire's glow had been. "Flowers, specifically. Even in frozen ground."
"I have a talent for it."
"A talent." The King smiled—a knowing expression that suggested he understood more than he let on. "My wife had a similar talent. Not as dramatic as yours, from what I hear, but she could coax life from the most stubborn soil."
"Orion told me about her. A little."
"Did he tell you about her garden?"
"No."
"Then I'll show you." The King rose, moving slowly but with purpose. "Come. There's something I think you should see."
* * *
The Queen's Garden was hidden at the heart of the palace.
It wasn't on any official map, wasn't mentioned in any tour, wasn't known to anyone outside the royal family. A private space, walled off from the rest of the world, accessible only through a single door that the King unlocked with a key he wore around his neck.
"Margret designed it herself," he said as the door swung open. "Spent fifteen years planting, cultivating, shaping it into what she wanted. It was her sanctuary."
Nera stepped through the doorway and felt her breath catch.
The garden was small—perhaps fifty feet across—but it was perfect. Winding paths of white stone wound between beds of flowers, each one carefully chosen, carefully placed. A fountain bubbled at the center, its water crystal clear. Climbing roses covered the walls, their blooms a riot of color against the ancient stone.
But that wasn't what made her gasp.
The garden was dying.
She could feel it in the earth, in the roots, in the very air. The flowers that bloomed did so desperately, clinging to life through sheer stubbornness. The roses were thin, their leaves yellowing. The fountain's water was clear but lifeless, lacking the vitality that healthy gardens possessed.
"It started fading after she died," the King said quietly. "The gardeners have done everything they can, but nothing works. It's like..."
"Like it's grieving," Nera finished. "The garden loved her. And when she left, it started to follow."
The King looked at her sharply. "You can sense that?"
"I can feel it." She moved deeper into the garden, her hand trailing over a wilting rose. The plant leaned toward her touch, seeking warmth, seeking life, seeking something it had lost. "She put herself into this place. Her energy, her love, her essence. When she died, she took part of the garden's heart with her."
"Can it be saved?"
The question was raw, vulnerable—not a king asking, but a widower hoping.
Nera knelt beside a bed of flowers that had once been magnificent and were now barely surviving. She pressed her palm to the soil, closing her eyes, feeling the garden's pain like an echo of her own thousand-year loneliness.
"Yes," she said. "I think it can."
* * *
She spent the rest of the morning in the garden.
The King had left her there—"Take whatever time you need"—and she had lost herself in the work. Not the physical labor of gardening, but something deeper. A communion with the earth, the roots, the dormant life waiting to be awakened.
She was, after all, a nature spirit at her core. Before she had been a queen, before she had been anything else, she had been connected to growing things. It was the oldest part of her, the truest part, the part that had never quite fit on a throne.
Her light flowed into the soil—subtle, careful, nothing that would alarm any watching gardeners. She whispered to the roses in languages older than human speech. She coaxed the fountain's water into dancing, reminded it what joy felt like.
And slowly, impossibly, the garden began to respond.
Color returned to fading petals. Stems straightened. Leaves lost their yellow cast and remembered how to be green. The air itself seemed to sweeten, filled with the scent of flowers that had forgotten they could bloom.
"That's remarkable."
Nera turned to find Elara standing at the garden's entrance, watching with wide eyes.
"I didn't hear you come in."
"I was quiet. I wanted to see what you were doing before you knew I was watching." The princess moved closer, her gaze moving across the revitalized garden. "These roses haven't looked this healthy since I was a child. Since Mother was alive."
"They just needed attention. The right kind of attention."
"That's not what the gardeners say. They say the garden is cursed. That nothing can make it grow properly anymore."
"It wasn't cursed. It was lonely." Nera stood, brushing soil from her dress. "Gardens are more aware than people realize. They remember who loved them."
Elara was quiet for a moment, processing this. Then: "You're not what you seem, are you?"
"Does anyone seem exactly what they are?"
"Fair point." The princess sat on the fountain's edge, studying Nera with frank curiosity. "Orion won't tell me. He says your history is yours to share. But I can tell there's something... more."
"There is."
"Will you tell me?"
Nera considered the question. Elara had Orion's directness, his inability to play games, his preference for truth over comfortable lies. She reminded Nera of her brother in a hundred small ways.
"Someday," she said. "When you know me better. When trust has been earned."
"That's fair." Elara nodded. "I can work with that."
"You're very understanding."
"I'm the youngest of five. I've learned that demanding answers doesn't work—people tell you things when they're ready, not when you want them to." She smiled. "Besides, you make my brother happy. That matters more than any mystery."
"He makes me happy too."
"Good. Then we're allies." Elara stood, offering her hand. "Welcome to the family, Nera. Properly, this time. Not as a stranger at court, but as my sister."
Nera took the offered hand, feeling something warm bloom in her chest.
"Thank you, Elara."
"Thank me by keeping the garden alive. Father visits here sometimes, when he thinks no one's watching. Seeing it healthy again..." Her voice caught slightly. "It would mean everything to him."
"I'll take care of it. I promise."
"I believe you." Elara squeezed her hand once, then released it. "Now come. Lunch is soon, and you should meet Helena properly before the politics start. She's terrifying, but she's also brilliant. You'll either hate each other or become best friends."
"Those seem like very different outcomes."
"With Helena, they're often the same thing."
* * *
Princess Helena was not what Nera expected.
The reports had painted her as cold, calculating, dangerous—a woman who played political games with the skill of a master. And all of that was true. But sitting across from her at lunch, Nera saw something else as well.
Helena was exhausted.
It showed in the careful way she held herself, in the precise control of every expression, in the way her eyes constantly assessed the room for threats. She wasn't just playing the game—she was drowning in it.
"So," Helena said, setting down her wine glass with deliberate care. "The mysterious wife. I've been looking forward to this conversation."
"Have you?"
"You're an unknown variable. I dislike unknown variables." Her smile was sharp but not entirely unfriendly. "My informants couldn't find anything about you before your marriage. That's... unusual."
"I've lived a private life."
"A completely untraceable private life. No family records. No birth documents. No history at all until you appeared at my brother's side." Helena tilted her head. "Either you're very good at hiding, or there's something extraordinary about your origins."
"Perhaps both."
"Perhaps." Helena studied her for a long moment. "You're not intimidated by me."
"Should I be?"
"Most people are. I've cultivated a certain reputation."
"I'm not most people."
Something flickered in Helena's eyes—surprise, maybe, or respect. "No. You're not." She leaned back. "You know what I think?"
"I'm curious."
"I think you're playing a longer game than anyone realizes. I think there are layers to you that even Orion hasn't fully seen. And I think that whatever secrets you're hiding, they're significant."
"That's a lot of thinking."
"It's what I do." Helena's smile softened slightly. "But I also think you genuinely love my brother. That's not something you can fake, not convincingly, not for years. And he loves you—that much is obvious to anyone with eyes."
"So what's your conclusion?"
"That you're dangerous, but not to us. Whatever you are, whatever you're hiding, you're on Orion's side. And that makes you an ally, not a threat."
Nera considered this assessment. It was remarkably accurate.
"I am dangerous," she admitted. "But you're right—not to your family. Orion is everything to me. I would never do anything to hurt him or his."
"Good." Helena raised her wine glass. "Then we have an understanding. Welcome to the family, sister. Try not to get caught up in the succession mess—it's exhausting and nobody wins."
"Noted."
"And if you ever feel like sharing those secrets..." Her eyes glittered. "I'm very good at keeping things confidential."
"I'll remember that."
They drank together—two dangerous women, acknowledging each other's edges without cutting themselves on them.
* * *
Orion found her that evening, back in the Queen's Garden.
She had returned after lunch, unable to stay away. The garden called to her in a way she couldn't explain—or rather, could explain perfectly, but not without revealing more than she intended. It was a wounded thing, slowly healing, and she felt responsible for its recovery.
"Father told me you were here." Orion settled onto a bench near the fountain, watching her work. "He said you've done something remarkable."
"I just helped it remember what it was supposed to be."
"He was crying when he told me." Orion's voice was soft. "I don't think I've ever seen my father cry. Not even when Mother died—he held it together for us."
Nera paused, her hand on a rose stem. "Was he upset?"
"The opposite. He was grateful." Orion stood, crossing to her. "This garden was the last piece of her. The last living thing she'd touched. When it started dying, he thought he was losing her all over again."
"Gardens shouldn't outlast love. They should preserve it."
"Is that what you're doing? Preserving her love?"
"In a way." Nera turned to face him, the evening light catching her green hair, making it glow. "She put so much of herself into this place. It's like... a letter she left behind. A message in flowers."
"What does it say?"
"That she loved her family. That she found joy in growing things. That even a runaway bride could become a queen and a mother and still keep something wild in her heart." Nera smiled. "She was remarkable, wasn't she?"
"I always thought so." Orion pulled her close. "And you're remarkable too. In different ways, but just as much."
"Flatterer."
"Truth-teller."
"Same thing, with you."
They stood together in the garden that had been dead and was coming back to life, surrounded by flowers that were remembering how to bloom.
"Helena approves of me," Nera said after a moment. "I think. It's hard to tell with her."
"If she approves, she'll never say it directly. She'll just stop trying to find leverage against you."
"That's a strange way to show acceptance."
"That's Helena. She shows love through strategic alliance."
"And Elara?"
"Elara called you her sister before you'd known her a day. That's just who she is." He kissed her forehead. "Marcus is still processing. Darius hasn't really engaged yet—he's focused on military matters, keeps his distance from court intrigue. But overall..."
"Overall?"y
"Better than I expected. Much better." His arms tightened around her. "You're winning them over, Nera. Without even trying."
"I am trying. I want them to accept me. They're your family."
"They're your family now too."
"I'm still getting used to that idea."
"Take your time." He released her, looking around at the garden with something like wonder. "We'll be here for a while. Father made it clear—he wants us to stay. Through the winter, at least. Maybe longer."
"And you want that?"
"I don't know." He was honest about it. "But I want to try. To see if this can work—being here, being with them, without losing myself. Without losing us."
"Then we try." Nera took his hand. "Together."
"Always together."
The garden seemed to sigh around them—roses lifting their heads, water dancing just a little brighter, life finding its way back into soil that had almost forgotten how to nurture it.
Above, the stars were emerging over Kingshold, the same stars that shone over Thornhaven, over Coastal City, over all the places they'd been.
But tonight, they were here. And here, for now, was exactly where they needed to be.
— End of Chapter Twenty-Nine —