Chapter 85 | Flowers | Leah
In the castle garden, Kael stood beneath an ancient blood cypress tree.
The tree had to be at least five hundred years old, its trunk so thick it would take three people to wrap their arms around it, the bark covered in cracks like an old person's face. Even in winter, its branches stayed dark red, like frozen flames, standing out sharply against the gray-white garden.
His dark red wings were folded behind him, silver-black hair falling over his shoulders. He held a small garden trowel in his hand, its wooden handle worn smooth from use, the blade still covered with dirt. He was—
planting flowers.
"What are you doing?" I walked over, trying not to smile. A three-thousand-year-old prince, crouching in the garden, digging with a little trowel—there was something strangely beautiful about the scene.
"Planting flowers." His voice was flat, like he was talking about the weather, but the tips of his ears turned slightly pink.
"What kind of flowers?"
"Blood roses," he said. "Brought them from the capital's garden."
I looked at him. A three-thousand-year-old prince, crouching in the garden, digging with a little trowel, planting flowers. His fingers were covered in dirt, black soil stuck under his nails. Dark red wings folded behind him like a cloak. His movements were awkward but careful, like he was preparing for battle—not just planting a single flower.
"Why?" I asked.
He looked up. His ice-blue vertical pupils caught the morning light like two jewels, shining with something I'd never seen before. Not power, not coldness—
hope.
"Because," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting in the smallest smile, a smile that held more tenderness than I'd seen in three thousand years, "I want this place to have some life in it."
"Life?"
"For three thousand years," he said, his voice dropping, coming from somewhere far away, "this castle only had dead things. Portraits, memories, the past. I want—"
He stopped. The morning wind blew, making the blood cypress branches rustle, as if they were listening.
"I want this place to have something alive in it," he said.
My heart skipped a beat.
Not because of his words. Because of the look on his face when he said them. Not a prince's authority, not a three-thousand-year-old creature's coldness—
but just a regular guy who wanted to plant flowers.
"Kael," I said.
"Yeah?"
"Let me help you." I crouched down and took the small trowel from his hand. The soil felt damp and soft, carrying the smell of life.
We dug together, planted the blood rose seedlings together, watered them together. His movements were clumsy but serious, like he was preparing for battle—making sure every seedling stood straight, pouring each scoop of water evenly. I showed him how to use his fingers to feel if the soil was damp enough, how to tell if the roots needed more room, how to protect the delicate buds from the cold winter.
"Have you ever planted flowers before?" I asked.
"No," he said. "This is my first time."
"Why do you want to now?"
He was quiet for a moment. The morning light traced soft lines across his face, the dirt on his fingers like some kind of ancient marking. Then—
"Because of you," he said, his voice dropping, coming from somewhere far away. "Because you make me want—"
He stopped.
"Want what?"
"Want a future," he said.
I looked at him.
The morning light traced soft lines across his face, the dirt on his fingers like some kind of ancient marking. The corner of his mouth lifted, not in that sharp way, but something closer to—
gentleness.
"Kael," I said.
"Yeah?"
"The flowers will bloom," I said, my voice catching a little. "Blood roses. They'll bloom."
"I know," he said. "But—"
He looked at me. His ice-blue vertical pupils held three thousand years of loneliness, and a hope just starting to grow.
"But I want to watch them bloom with you," he said.
My eyes got wet.
Not from emotion. Because—
because for three thousand years, this was the first time someone wanted to watch flowers bloom with me.
Not watch a war end. Not watch power change hands. Not watch—
watch blood roses bloom.
"Okay," I said, my voice catching. "We'll watch together."
Sunlight poured over us, turning the soil golden. The blood rose seedlings swayed gently in the wind, like they were nodding. In the distance, the castle bells rang out, long and deep.
Kael stood up, brushing the dirt off his knees. His fingers were covered in black soil, dirt still stuck under his nails. He looked at those seedlings with something in his eyes I couldn't quite name—not a prince's authority, not a warrior's coldness, but something softer, more fragile. Hope.
"When will they bloom?" he asked.
"Spring," I said. "About three months."
"Three months," he repeated, like he was tasting the words. "For three thousand years, I've never waited for anything to bloom."
"Well, now you can start," I said. "Waiting."
He looked at me, the corner of his mouth lifting. The smile was small, but enough to make the winter sunshine feel one degree warmer.
A new season was beginning.
Imperfect, slow, filled with the smell of dirt.
But—
but we were planting flowers.
That was enough.