A Crown Of Moonlit Petals

Chapter 12: The Blood in the Roots

The grove held its breath.

The petals slowly dimmed, the vines curling back into the earth. Elara stood in the soft, fading light, heart still racing, hands tingling from where the magic had burst forth.

Caelen approached her carefully, eyes scanning her for wounds. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “No. But I—I didn’t know I could do that.”

“You couldn’t,” he said softly. “Not before today.”

She looked down at her hands. “What was it?”

“A warding bloom,” Caelen replied. “Old forest magic. Protective. Rare. Only those with Court-blood can summon it.”

Elara sat heavily on a stone, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m not just mortal, am I?”

He knelt beside her, his gaze gentle. “No. You’re descended from the Moon Court. One of the old lines. That magic you wielded—it was waiting, sleeping in your blood.”

“My grandmother,” she murmured, the locket cool in her palm. “She used to hum songs about flowers that could keep the night away.”

Caelen nodded. “Likely more than stories. Perhaps she knew, or perhaps her magic faded before it could awaken. But yours has returned. And that means you’re bound to this land now, Elara. Whether you wanted to be or not.”

The wind sighed through the trees, low and mournful.

“What happens if I don’t go with you to the Moon Court?” she asked.

“Then Thorne will find you. And if he claims your power—” Caelen’s voice tightened, “—he could restore his court in shadow, and undo everything that once kept our realm in balance.”

Elara looked at him, at the bruises beneath his eyes, the weight on his shoulders.

“I don’t know how to be what you need,” she said.

He reached out, brushing a lock of hair from her cheek. “You don’t have to be. You just have to be willing.”