The scent of Bckthorn Lilies hung faintly in the air, bitter and sharp. Their violet petals, dark as bruises, rested in a crystal vase upon the King’s desk, the water catching the dim candlelight like fractured gss.

  King Everburn sat before them, his eyes bleary from hours of studying maps and records of past campaigns. His fingers idly traced the edge of a parchment detailing supply lines, but his attention had wandered. He muttered something under his breath—half a thought, a fragment of a strategy not yet fully formed.

  A soft knock at the door barely registered before the tch clicked.

  “You had those put in a vase?”

  Princess Everburn stood in the doorway, her gaze flicking from the lilies to her father.

  King Everburn blinked, as if just now realizing he had been staring at them. His expression smoothed as he leaned back in his chair, gesturing vaguely toward the flowers.

  “There’s value in everything in our kingdom, dear daughter,” he said. “If you know how to use it.”

  Princess Everburn studied him for a moment longer, then stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

  “I don’t like him,” she said pinly.

  King Everburn’s gaze remained on the lilies. His fingers traced the rim of the vase, thoughtful. “Lord Harriot?”

  She nodded.

  “I could tell in our first meeting that he isn’t the man for me,” she said, pacing now, the silk hem of her gown brushing against the stone floor. “He’s everything they say he is—successful, wealthy, the strongest province under our rule—but none of that matters if I can’t stand him.”

  Her hands clenched at her sides. Her face was becoming twinged with the red of royal anger. “The way he spoke to me, the way he looked at me, like I was a prize he had already won. The idea of sharing a life with him, of bearing his children, it—” Her breath hitched, disgust curling in her throat. “It makes my skin crawl.”

  Something shifted in her. A force beneath her skin, a presence older than her own years, stirred in agreement. The gift and the curse of her bloodline. A force that once shattered mountains with a mere gesture and forced entire armies to their knees… she’d been holding it back so long. It was like a dam was finally breaking inside her.

  “I don’t care about how rich his house is!” She was practically shouting now, her head becoming faint. She gripped her fathers study desk to steady herself “How much taxes he brings in! I can’t-”

  Crack.

  The desk. She hadn’t realized how tightly she was gripping it until she heard the wood groan, the fine sturdy oak crumbling like a hors d'oeuvre cracker in her hand.

  King Everburn saw. He always saw. But he did not flinch, did not react in arm or caution. Instead, he merely spoke one word, calm and measured.

  “Patience.”

  Princess Everburn inhaled sharply, forcing herself to steady. The weight of her power, the raw presence of her bloodline, still coiled beneath her skin, waiting. She released the shattered remnants of the table, flexing her fingers as if to shake off the sensation.

  “My apologies,” she murmured, voice tight. “I didn’t mean to—”

  She moved to sit, but before she could, her father was there. He rose smoothly, pcing a firm hand on her arm to steady her.

  “It’s okay,” he said, his voice steady, unwavering.

  She looked up at him, surprised by the strength still in his grip. The blood was still in him after all. Even after all these years, after all the power he had wielded and all the battles he had won, it had not left him.

  King Everburn held her gaze for a long moment before speaking. “You don’t need to marry Lord Harriot,” he said at st. “I’ll find an opportunity for another match.”

  The words struck her harder than she expected. The breath she’d been holding slipped out in a quiet exhale.

  “What?” she said, blinking.

  She hadn’t expected that. Not from him.

  Princess Everburn’s confusion lingered, but before she could press the matter, her father released her arm and stepped back.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, voice measured. “I have pns in pce.” He turned slightly, gncing back toward the Bckthorn Lilies, idly tracing the rim of the vase once more. “I’ll give you the details when the time is right. But for now, you must entertain Lord Harriot as if he still has a chance to win your hand.”

  She stiffened instinctively, but he continued before she could protest.

  “He is a rich nobleman, after all. A delicate hand is required here, not a fist.” A small, knowing pause. “Not yet, at least.”

  Something in the way he said it sent a faint chill through her. Relief mixed with unease, settling uncomfortably in her stomach.

  “What do you mean by that?” she asked, watching him closely.

  King Everburn merely offered the hint of a smile. “You don’t need to worry just yet.” He turned, already moving toward the door. “Come, we should prepare for dinner. The chef is preparing a fresh kill. And... did Lord Harriot bring a Jester? I do hope so. I haven’t ughed properly in some time."