Chapter 55: Thorns and Truths
Chapter 55: Thorns and Truths
“Seems my plan of you going to the ball with dark hair was destroyed,” Orion thought grimly to himself as the carriage rumbled through the stone gates of the White Mansion.
The sun was sinking low, turning the marble pillars gold and blood-red. The air carried the faint scent of wet earth and ash, the remnants of the day’s scandal still clinging to their silence. Sylvara said nothing. Her fingers toyed with the hem of her gown, the fabric still trembling faintly from all the eyes that had stared at her.
When they stepped out, the mansion felt colder than ever. Servants bowed low and vanished like shadows, not daring to look at Sylvara’s now-white hair. The hall was quiet except for the faint ticking of the clock and the echo of Orion’s boots against the polished floor.
He said nothing as he led her toward the greenhouse at the far end of the corridor, a glass-walled sanctuary bathed in the dim orange of sunset. The air inside was thick with the scent of soil, herbs, and something sharp, something that made Sylvara’s heart jolt in recognition.
Orion turned, holding something wrapped in a cloth. He unwrapped it slowly, revealing a cluster of green leaves streaked with faint gold veins.
Sylvara froze.
The Yemtema plant.
Its scent hit her instantly. The bitter, metallic tang of the Dark Forest itself.
Her throat tightened. How…?
How did he find this outside the forest? The Yemtema plant couldn’t grow here. It withered under open skies and ordinary air. “Was that where you were all this while?” she finally asked, her voice soft but edged. “You went into the forest for this?”
Does that mean she misses me? He thought. Orion didn’t answer immediately. He watched her reaction, eyes unreadable. “You recognize it,” he said instead, tone low, almost testing.
“Of course I do,” she replied, stepping closer. “But it’s useless outside the forest. It loses its power the moment it’s cut. So why…”
“I know you’ve been trying to learn how to escape.”
His words cut through her sentence, calm and cold as a knife’s edge.
Sylvara stiffened.
“I see what you read,” he added. “The hidden maps, the myths about forest gates, the old writings about your kind. You’ve been studying every possible way to run from me.”
Her pulse quickened. How does he always know? Every time she thought she’d hidden something, he found it. Every time she tried to plan, he was already ten steps ahead.
“And,” he continued, voice steady but carrying an undertone of something darker, “I know why you refused to renew the hair dye before going out with Madam Sofie.”
Sylvara’s stomach turned cold.
“You wanted them to see,” he said. “You wanted the nobles to recognize what you are. To let the rumors spread. To cause chaos… and give me a reason to release you. To let you go back to the Forbidden Forest.”
She stared at him, breath shallow. He wasn’t accusing. He was simply stating it, like a man reading her heart aloud. “So you knew,” she whispered. “You knew and still let me do it anyway. Why?”
For a moment, silence fell between them. The plants rustled softly in the warm air. Then Orion’s lips curved, not quite into a smile. “Because those fools and I have never been allies,” he said. “They needed to see the truth for themselves… that the girl they feared most stands under my protection. Let them choke on it.”
Sylvara’s eyes flicked to the Yemtema plant again, still glowing faintly under the lantern light. She reached for it, her fingers brushing its golden veins. “And this?” she asked. “Why bring it here?”
“So you don’t have to run back to that cursed place,” he said simply. “You claimed you needed to reapply the paint so the forest beasts wouldn’t scatter… that your absence would break their bond to you. My men are already tending to it. It’s done.”
Her hand froze around the plant. “You… what?” Her voice trembled with disbelief. “You sent your men into the Dark Forest?”
“I did. It's not like you're stronger than them.”
“It's forbidden for a reason!” she snapped. “You can’t just… the forest kills! You don’t understand what you’re…”
“They’re trained,” he said, unbothered. “And they follow my command.”
“I never said I needed your help,” Sylvara said sharply. Her voice cracked, part anger, part something else she couldn’t name. He always took control, of everything. Even the things she wanted to do on her own.
“No,” Orion said, stepping closer until she could see her reflection in his eyes. “You didn’t.”
He paused. His tone softened, but his authority never wavered. “But it’s what I want.”
Sylvara’s breath caught. She wanted to argue, to call him arrogant, cruel, controlling. But the words stuck in her throat. There was something in his eyes that unsettled her. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t dominance. It was something older, heavier, a vow carved into flesh and blood.
She looked away, clutching the Yemtema plant as if it might burn her. “You can’t fix everything by force, Orion,” she said quietly. “You can’t just decide what I need.”
“Maybe not,” he said. “But I decide what stays under my protection.”
His words lingered like a command written in the air.
Outside, thunder rolled in the distance, faint, but growing closer. The glass panes shivered in their frames, and Sylvara thought, for a moment, that the storm itself was answering him.
She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her at the door.
“Next time you try to escape,” he said, not unkindly, “try not to make it so easy to read.”
She looked back at him, the man who had trapped her, protected her, exposed her, and somehow still kept her heart uneasy in her chest. Her reply was soft, almost a whisper.
“Next time,” she said, “maybe I won’t want to.”
Then she left the greenhouse, her shadow cutting through the dim light like a slash of silver.
And for the first time that night, Orion felt uncertain which of them had truly won.