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“What in all of Celestae,” I whisper.

The plants were withered just days ago when I shed a horrid amount of tears.

Did some of them fall on the wilted display?

Then I remember the rose Tiernan tucked behind my ear. I reach for it, analyzing it as I compare it to the roses growing along the balusters. On the vine closest to the door, one of the stemmed blooms has recently been cut off. My fingers tremble as the delicate flower drops to the stone terrace.

He sent Domhnall to my balcony.

When he’d placed this rose in my hair, he knew it was from my balcony.

“You have such a gift for growing flowers.”

Cara’s words echo in my mind. At the time, I truly believed she was merely being supportive. It’s true that I’ve always been fascinated with the life and growth of all creatures—not just plants. I thought this fascination drove my skill within the floral shop, but what if it’s more than that?

How is this possible?

“Maeva,” Emyr’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “Is everything alright?”

“The roses are revived,” I whisper.

“Yes,” he says slowly.

“Are these grown anywhere in the palace?” I ask.

“Are you referring to roses that aren’t withered?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say.

He pauses for a moment, trailing a hand over the soft petals of one of the blooms. “No, the only flora I’ve seen flourish are brambles or black Dahlias. Never anything with such a lovely color,” he replies.

“So the rose he put in my hair could only have come from this balcony?” I ask.

Emyr’s shoulders stiffen as his sharp eyes assess the area. “Are you implying that he was here on your balcony?” he whispers angrily.

“Perhaps not him, but maybe Domhnall,” I reply. “If he was, then he saw this.”

His brow furrows as he rubs his chin. “Okay, so you revived the roses rather quickly,” he deadpans. “You’ve grown a variety of different genuses at the Violet Lily. What’s the harm?”

I run a hand through my hair, as I contemplate how to approach this topic with him. “Yes, but I didn’t fertilize or work with these, Emyr. I’ve only been on this balcony once, and all I did was cry and speak with you during that time,” I say.

His eyes widen as he looks around the balcony before pulling me into the furthest corner. His hands wrap around my waist once more, as his shadows descend over us.

“Do you think your tears healed them?” he asks, searching my face .

I nod. “It sounds ludicrous, but maybe,” I reply. “It isn’t logical though. I’m not a healer. My ability is starlight… It doesn’t heal. It kills, holds, destroys, burns?—”

“What if it has the capacity to heal if you desire it to do so?” he interjects.

“That’s not how it works,” I reply noncommittally.

“Are you certain?” he asks. “There’s very little knowledge about your ability.

It’s rare and is said to have only been blessed to one bloodline in Malvoria—though that has never been proven as a truth.

As far as its capabilities, very little is truly understood about it.

What if it’s capable of more than just destruction? ”

I chew on my lip in contemplation.

“Even if that were true, I couldn’t access it until my twenty-fifth year. So how could I grow such things in the shop?” I ask.

“Perhaps there was a small part of it you could access, but it was just so subtle you didn’t realize it?” Emyr theorizes. “I don’t know the answer, Rosey. I don’t even comprehend how this all works, but I do know that you can heal with your ability.”

“How?” I ask.

“Because you relieved my shoulder from the burns your starlight orb caused,” he says.

I wince. “I-I did not relieve the pain,” I say curtly.

“You did,” he encourages softly. “When you pinned me to the dome wall, its warmth spread over my wound, taking the pain away.”

My mind goes back to that moment in the dome.

Emyr had been in emotional pain, but I also saw the grimace every time he lifted that shoulder.

I hadn’t wished to hurt him, but I was so furious with him.

I knew that if I could just coax it out of him, he’d speak about what’s bothering him.

When I pinned him with my starlight, I thought?—

An audible gasp escapes me. “I was thinking about the fact that I wanted to ease your pain,” I murmur. “What if that triggered the healing properties of my ability?”

This is absurd .

If my ability is capable of easing pain or making the flowers bloom, what else is it capable of?

Your ability is more than just the darkness you carry, my dear.

Saoirse said that to me just weeks ago.

I wince, feeling sorrowful for shutting her out, but this just proves that there’s so much more she’s concealing from me. Yes, she’s bound to not speak of what she knows until the bloody appointed time, but why can’t she at least inform me of my own ability?

Why all the secrecy?

I need some time to think without her slippery voice feeding me stories and poems that are illogical and nonsensical.

Emyr bends until he’s eye level with me, drawing my gaze back to him. “Your capabilities are such tantalizing mysteries that we’ll unravel together,” he promises.

“How do you plan to do that, High General?” I reply.

One of his rare dimpled smiles crosses his features.

It’s the kind of smile that warms even the iciest of chills in the air.

It’s a grin that I’m certain makes women forget their surroundings, because I do in this moment with him.

It is one that is hopeful and infectious.

I wonder how different he’d be if he were allowed to be more like this.

The commanding High General Emyr is… mildly attractive.

Yet it’s the soft and kind Prince Emyreus that captures my heart.

My knees threaten to give way at the thought of him in his royal attire again, but my stubborn pride won’t allow such fantasies to continue any further.

So I return the gesture with a grin of my own.

He watches me with rapt attention, his features growing lighter with each passing second.

Leaning in, he brushes a chaste kiss on my forehead, then he abruptly pulls away.

“We’re going to test it in your training.

We begin tomorrow,” he says. I follow him inside and can’t help but marvel at the expanse of his broad shoulders.

My hands still remember the feel of his hardened chest and biceps curled around me as we danced and spoke last night—which now feels like a lifetime ago.

He retrieves his helmet from the ground, resituating it on his head before opening the door. The Cadre are standing outside, attempting to peer in; however, he blocks their view.

“I presume all is well?” Virgil asks in a clipped tone.

“It appears that the stubborn fools finally stopped their quarreling,” Riordan jests. I can practically imagine the wiggling of his brows beneath his helmet.

“Yes, our training begins in the morning,” Emyr growls in his general voice.

Okay, it’s definitely more than just mildly attractive when it isn’t being thrown in my direction.

As if he heard my thoughts, he winks at me.

“Be ready at dawn,” he commands, closing the door behind him.

I release the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

Siorai, save me.