The garden of the Spring Court was a riot of colors, violets and golds blooming where no sun reached, petals whispering secrets to the wind.
Beneath an arching trellis of starflowers, Queen Arabella stood cloaked in dark green, her presence like shadow amid the brightness and the colors.
King Cyrus was late.
His crown was woven with living thorns, vines curling up his arms like they adored him. His smile was lazy, but his eyes were green as emerald missing nothing.
"You summoned me to a garden," he said, strolling toward her with a flourish. "Should I be flattered or worried?"
Arabella didn't smile. "You should be afraid."
Cyrus arched a brow. "Now that's a greeting."
She turned, folding her gloved hands. "He's awake."
Cyrus grew still. Even the flowers seemed to hold their breath.
"You're certain?" he asked softly.
She met his gaze. "He's not just a myth. Not a story to frighten seers into obedience. He was real. Is real and he remembers."
Cyrus's jaw ticked. "How?"
