Page 5

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V ivienne stood in front of the mirror in her small bedroom, smoothing her palms over the fabric of her gown. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d spent this much effort getting ready. The morning had been a flurry of movement: boiling water for a bath, making endless trips between the stone hearth and the washroom, scrubbing away every trace of exhaustion with honey-lavender soap.

Her long red hair was swept into a bun at the crown of her head, held in place by a dozen stubborn hairpins and mumbled prayers. Dressing had been another ordeal, layers upon layers, more than even Johanna’s pastries could boast.

She gave the mirror a bright smile, but the reflection almost startled her. Though the mirror’s faint patina softened the image, she barely recognized this elevated version of herself. Vivienne loved dressing up, but didn’t often have an occasion that merited the effort.

Her hands traced over the bodice, feeling the taut resistance of the drawn laces. The deep navy fabric hugged her frame, cinching at the waist before cascading into full, heavy folds that swayed with the slightest movement. An intricate lace overlay caught the light, its delicate patterns casting shadows over the skirt. The long sleeves, puffed slightly at the shoulders, tapered elegantly to her wrists.

Her gaze dropped to her boots, their pearl buttons gleaming in the sunlight. The soft leather hugged her calves snugly before flaring just below her knees. She had saved them for something special. Today was the first time she had worn them.

“A few final touches,” she murmured to her reflection.

From her dressing table, she picked up a delicate ivory hair comb, a gift from her mother. Her fingers brushed over the tiny seashells and pearls, the smooth surface warmed by years of familiarity. Each piece had been set with care, designed to shimmer subtly as it caught the light. She tucked the comb into the left side of her hair, adjusting until it felt right.

She reached for her silver mirrored compact, her thumb instinctively running over the engraved hummingbird on its surface. She slid it into one of the deep pockets hidden in the folds of her dress. Finally, she uncorked a small glass vial, tilting it just enough for a few precious drops of jasmine and rose perfume oil to kiss the pulse points at her wrists and neck. The scent unfurled, rich and floral, mingling with the faint trace of lavender still lingering from her bath.

She paused in the narrow hallway, her eyes landing on the closed door to Briar’s bedroom. Her stomach twisted. How am I supposed to tell Briar our parents are missing and presumed dead?

Her breath felt too tight as she descended the stairs, the wooden boards creaking softly beneath her steps. In the central room, her eyes flicked to the small clock above the hearth. Half past twelve. Lewis will be here any minute.

She crossed to the dining table, fingers closing around the parchment scroll with the Chancellor’s instructions. The paper was smooth, well-handled. She had read it so many times she could almost recite it word for word, yet she still worried she had missed something. She unrolled it once more, scanning the script. Her fingers clutching the edges.

A familiar knock echoed through the door. Lewis' knock. The same pattern he’d used for years. Vivienne tucked the parchment into the hidden pocket of her dress, smoothing the fabric as she crossed the room and pulled open the door.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Lewis’ mouth fell open, his eyes flickering from her hair, to the deep navy folds of her gown, then back up again. Vivienne wasn’t sure who looked more shocked, him or her. It wasn’t often she left Lewis Blume speechless.

Her own gaze swept over him. He wore a deep green waistcoat, embroidered with intricate gold-threaded vines curling along the fabric. Beneath it, a crisp white linen shirt peeked out at the collar. His dark brown trousers—well-tailored, she noted with mild surprise—tucked smoothly into polished leather boots. He smelled of cedar and vanilla, blending with his usual earthy scent, clean and warm, the aroma lingering in the air between them.

But it was his hair that caught her attention. For once, it looked like it had been introduced to a comb. Vivienne’s lips parted slightly. In this moment, he wasn’t just Lewis, her childhood friend, the boy who threw pebbles at her window and teased her endlessly. He was a man. A handsome man , she admitted to herself.

Her brows lifted, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “Looks like someone has big plans today.”

A mischievous grin spread across his face, his eyes twinkling. “Ah, nothing big today. Just thought I’d go for a stroll. Care to join me?”

Vivienne feigned disappointment, turning the key in the lock behind her. “Oh, I would, but I have a casual conversation scheduled with our dear friend, the King.”

They started the climb toward Eirenden Keep, the city unfolding beneath them as they walked.

“How is Berry doing these days?”

Vivienne scoffed. “You call King Berius Algernon, the monarch of the Kingdom of Fendwyr, Berry ?”

Lewis donned a smug expression. “Don’t be jealous that he and I are on close enough terms for nicknames.”

She arched an eyebrow. “I think giving your King a nickname—especially a terrible one—might be treason.”

He threw his head back and laughed, the sound rich, full, and entirely unbothered. “Treason warning noted.”

They wove through the streets, passing Crown housing and outbuildings, climbing steadily toward Eirenden Keep. Vivienne grimaced. The laces of her bodice bit into her ribs, each inhale a sharp reminder that she’d tied them too tight. Her boots, still stiff from lack of wear, pinched with every step. The things we do for beauty. She adjusted her posture, taking short, strategic breaths to compensate.

Ahead, the castle stretched into the sky, its stone towers casting long shadows. It felt more imposing than usual, like a living thing watching their approach. Vivienne’s mouth went dry.

“Are you nervous?” Lewis asked.

“Of course I’m nervous,” she admitted, a strained chuckle escaping her lips. “I’m about to ask for a favor from a King. A King who doesn’t even know I exist.”

He glanced over his round spectacles. “If anyone could win over a monarch,” he mused, “I’m confident you’d make the top ten.”

Vivienne let out a quick, startled laugh, her eyes widening in mock offense. “Top ten?”

“After today, you might be well on your way to cracking the top five.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Not all of us are on nickname terms with royalty.”

As the streets grew steeper, their breaths came harder, boots scuffing against uneven cobblestones. Vivienne considered several different violent demises for her bodice and its punishing laces.

“You know, I’ve never actually spoken to the King,” Lewis admitted.

She shot him a curious look. “Don’t you work at the castle?”

“I work in the gardens and greenhouse adjacent to the castle,” he clarified. “I haven’t spent much time inside.” He nudged a small stone forward with the tip of his boot, watching it bounce along the street. “One time, I watered a fern in the same room as the King,” he added, playing at nonchalance.

Vivienne burst into laughter. “A fern? And you dare to put me on a top ten list?”

“Hey,” he defended, hands raised in mock surrender. “At least I’ve been in the same room as the man.”

Vivienne gathered the folds of her gown in her hands, careful not to trip as the incline sharpened for the final ascent. “I’ve never been up to the castle,” she confessed. “Or the grounds.”

Lewis glanced sideways at her, a knowing smile creeping onto his face. “You’re in for a treat.”

* * *

As they approached Eirenden Keep, the pristine white-stone walls gave way to an unwelcoming iron gate. A castle guard stood at attention, clad in lightweight golden armor, the hilt of his sword gleaming at his side.

“State your business,” the guard boomed.

Vivienne slipped a hand into the folds of her gown, pulling the instructional parchment from her pocket. “We are here for an audience with King Berius.”

The guard barely glanced at the parchment before stepping aside. “You may proceed.” His voice, just as thunderous as before, made her jump.

Lewis leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear. “Do you think he uses that voice with his wife?”

Vivienne clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh but as soon as they stepped past the gate, her laughter died in her throat.

Her hand remained over her mouth—but it was no longer to keep from laughing. It was to contain the gasp of pure astonishment.

The garden unfolded before her like the scenery of a dream.

A living tapestry of color and fragrance stretched in every direction. Beds of goldenrod, asters, and cardinal flowers spilled over carefully arranged pathways, their scents twining together into something rich and intoxicating. The flowers formed labyrinthine designs following the elegant arches and carved stonework of the courtyard. Polished stone paths wound through the garden, leading under arching trellises heavy with climbing honeysuckle, their petals fluttering like silk in the gentle breeze. The cascading water of the central, grand fountain caught the afternoon light, sending ripples of gold and silver dancing across the surrounding flora.

“Do you like it?” Lewis' voice was quiet as his eyebrows knit together, forming a crease between them.

Vivienne’s gaze darted from one breathtaking detail to the next, her mind struggling to absorb it all. “Like it?” she breathed. Awe pooled in her chest, rising like the tide. Her eyes shimmered with anticipated tears. “Lewis, it’s the most beautiful, the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”

Lewis wasn’t looking at the garden anymore.

“I know how you feel,” he murmured, his eyes resting on her.

Vivienne turned to him, blinking rapidly before shaking her head, trying to focus. “You made all of this?” Her voice came out half in disbelief, half in reverence.

“I did,” he said simply, but the pride in his voice was unmistakable.

Her eyes roved over the garden with renewed appreciation. “Why haven’t we been up here before? Why haven’t you shown me this?”

Lewis hesitated. Then, with a small shrug, he said, “We spend most of our time in your world. And I’ve been content to keep this part of mine separate. I wasn’t sure how interested you’d be in a bunch of plants.”

A sharp pang of guilt settled in her chest. She knew she had a tendency to be wrapped up in her own pursuits, but years had passed, and she’d never once insisted on seeing the thing he had devoted his life to. She swallowed, then met his gaze.

“Of course I’m interested,” she said, her voice softer now. “I should have asked more. I should have insisted on seeing the gardens sooner. This is your life’s work, and we are a huge part of each other’s lives.” She took a small step closer, her brow furrowing. “Don’t leave me out of the things that matter to you. Okay?”

Lewis held her gaze for a beat, then smiled. “Okay.”

Vivienne let out a breath, her shoulders loosening. She gestured to the vivid array of blossoms surrounding them. “Besides, this is gorgeous. How did I ever think Botany would be boring?”

Lewis let out a warm laugh, shaking his head. “Want to check out some more boring stuff?”

They wandered deeper into the garden, Lewis pausing now and then to point out certain flowers or designs. Vivienne took her time, running her fingers over velvety petals, breathing in the perfume of each bloom.

She recognized many of her favorites—bright yellow black-eyed susan blooms, purple coneflowers, and red dahlias as big as dinner plates. Her thoughts flickered to Briar. She would love this. I’ll bring her here once she’s back and have Lewis give her the full tour.

The garden pathways converged as they neared the castle, the air thick with the scent of sun-warmed stone and the perfume of the garden. Two towering doors marked Eirenden Keep’s entrance—massive slabs of solid oak, reinforced with thick iron bands. Above them, the royal emblem of Fendwyr was carved deep into the stone. The wise and regal owl perched beneath a radiant eight-pointed star, its wings half-unfurled, as if ready to take flight.

The moment Vivienne and Lewis stepped over the threshold, the sheer scale of the entrance hall enveloped them. Light filtered through narrow stained-glass windows, their jeweled colors spilling across the polished marble floor in a kaleidoscope of shifting hues. The vaulted ceiling stretched impossibly high, supported by monolithic stone pillars, their surfaces etched with scenes of ancient battles, crowned rulers, and mythic beasts frozen in time. A broad, sweeping staircase ascended to the higher levels, its steps gleaming under the fractured light.

Vivienne barely had time to absorb the grandeur before a high-pitched, nasally voice sliced through the hush.

“Name,” she demanded, not bothering with pleasantries.

Behind an imposing desk, a severe-looking woman sat ramrod straight, her mousy brown hair pulled back so tightly it looked like it hurt. Her plain features were indecipherable, but her walnut brown eyes tracked them with unsettling precision, as if cataloging their every move.

“Vivienne Banner.”

The woman’s gaze flicked to Lewis. “And you?”

“Lewis Blume.”

She paused as she scanned the roster in front of her. “You are on the list.”

Vivienne exhaled, relieved they hadn’t somehow been forgotten.

“You will wait in the antechamber until the Chancellor retrieves you,” the woman said, pointing to an archway on her left.

Vivienne started to step forward.

“Not yet.” The woman’s voice snapped through the air like a whip, freezing them both in place. “I need to review the rules.”

Lewis shot Vivienne a sideways glance. Of course she does.

The woman cleared her throat—a sharp, grating sound lingering in an unpleasant echo.

“Bow before the throne. Address the King as Your Majesty. Present your petition clearly and do not waste the Crown’s time. No weapons. No wandering. No wallowing. No oysters. No strawberries.”

Lewis’ hand shot up in question. “I’m sorry, did you say no oysters or strawberries?”

A long-suffering sigh escaped the woman, her fingers impatiently drummed against the desk. “Yes. His Majesty is allergic to one and despises the other.”

Lewis grinned, mischief sparking behind his eyes. “Wouldn’t it be important to say which is which?”

Before the woman could answer, Vivienne drove an elbow into his ribs. He let out a muffled grunt, rubbing his side.

Vivienne plastered on her most diplomatic smile. “Thank you for the instruction. We will take our seats now.”

The woman’s glare followed them all the way to the waiting room.

Vivienne leaned toward Lewis and hissed under her breath, “Gods, I can’t take you anywhere.”

Lewis chuckled, completely unrepentant.

* * *

The antechamber’s walls wrapped around them in rich, dark wood, a stark contrast to the cool, unyielding stone of the entrance hall. Tapestries draped along the walls, their vibrant threads weaving tales of landscapes long past and legendary feats. Against one wall, an ornate fireplace loomed, its broad hearth deep enough to warm the entire space.

A dozen plush, high-backed chairs were arranged in small conversational clusters, their burgundy velvet cushions beckoning. Though the room was empty of other visitors, Vivienne and Lewis gravitated toward a set of chairs near the back.

As she sank into the velvet’s embrace, Vivienne let out a sigh. “These might be the most comfortable chairs in Fendwyr.”

“In the world,” Lewis added, tilting his head back, eyes closed in bliss.

“I’d argue it’s an upgrade from our spot at Rocky Beach,” she commented.

“Hey, Rocky Beach has its perks.”

“Like shoes optional,” she agreed, biting back a wince. The stiff leather of her new boots dug into her heels, the sting of blisters already forming. Brilliant idea, Vivienne. Walk all the way here in brand-new shoes, and you still have to walk all the way back.

For several long moments, they sat in companionable silence, letting the weight of the day melt into the chairs.

Lewis exhaled deeply. “You smell like a garden.”

Vivienne’s eyes flicked open. “I wore perfume today. Is smelling like a garden a good thing?”

His eyes cracked open, a lazy smirk forming as he raised an eyebrow. “Have you met me?”

She chuckled, shaking her head. Lewis closed his eyes again, settling deeper into his chair as Vivienne let her gaze wander the room.

A circular table in the center stood waiting for a tea service that had yet to arrive. Another held a stack of books, none of them new to her. She scanned the fireplace mantel, where two golden candlesticks sat empty, their wax long since burned away.

Above the fireplace, a massive portrait dominated the space, its subject immediately familiar, Queen Metis. Her soft, green eyes seemed to follow Vivienne, their depth masterfully captured in paint, along with her pale alabaster skin, strawberry-blonde hair, a regal tilt of her chin. Vivienne had always admired artists who could breathe life into blank canvas with nothing but paint and brush.

To the left of the fireplace, a royal family portrait hung in an elaborate gilded frame.

Vivienne studied the figures—Queen Metis stood poised beside her auburn-haired husband, Aliferous, their two children seated before them. Sophronia’s red curls fought for escape beneath a ridiculous bonnet, and beside her, young Berius was all but lost beneath a sea of ruffles.

Vivienne found it hard to believe that the man ruling Fendwyr on the other side of these walls had ever been a child. Especially one in ruffles.

Her thoughts wandered to Lewis. Did he consider her a sibling? As an infant, Lewis lost both of his parents during the Siege of Fendwyr and grew up in the Crown’s care program for orphans and displaced families. She and him had been part of the only child club until Briar came into the picture. Vivienne had been fully grown when her parents adopted Briar, and while she cared for her cousin, the thirteen-year gap had left them in separate worlds. Blood wouldn’t have bridged the time between them.

Her gaze shifted to the right of the fireplace. King Berius’ coronation portrait stared back at her, a masterpiece in flattery.

The artist had gone to great lengths to depict him in the best possible light. His posture was too stiff, his shoulders squared with exaggerated command. The expression on his face was one of calculated wisdom, his gaze set toward an unseen horizon as if contemplating the very fabric of fate. His skin, eerily smooth and unblemished, bore no signs of stress or time. A generous interpretation , Vivienne suspected.

“Taking in the gallery?” Lewis’ voice pulled her from her thoughts.

She rolled her shoulders, stretching her neck side to side. “Not much else to do while we wait.”

He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Listen, Viv, no matter what happens today, we’ll find a solution.”

Vivienne stilled. “Sounds like you’re expecting bad news.”

Lewis sighed, clasping his hands together. “I hope it’s not, but your parents have been gone a lot longer than?—”

“So you’ve already given up?” The words lashed out before she could stop them, anger flaring hot in her chest.

“It’s not giving up,” Lewis said, his jaw tightening. “It’s being realistic.”

Vivienne clenched her fists. “Well, if we’re being realistic ,” she snapped, “my parents are out there, and I’m sure this whole thing is just a huge misunderstanding?—”

A pointed cough cut interrupted them. Vivienne and Lewis turned.

Chancellor Montaghue had materialized in the doorway, his face as severe as ever.

“The King will see you now.”