Shadow monsters, writhing and twisting like living darkness, press against an invisible barrier at the kingdom's boundary. Where they touch, sparks of failed magic flare briefly before dimming. They're testing the boundaries, hunting for weakness.
The protective wards are barely holding.
A faint knock at my door makes me jump. When I open it, I find Elm standing there, his face ghostly in the moonlight.
"You saw them," he says. It's not a question.
"What are they?" "Shadowmeres." He slips inside, closing the door quickly behind him. "Creatures of pure magic that feed on magical essence. They've always existed at our borders, but the wards kept them at bay."
He sinks into my solitary chair. "There's something you need to know about the prince—about the king."
I felt a cold run down my spine that has nothing to do with the night air. "Tell me."
Elm's withered hands grip together. "King Aldric hasn't been seen in public for nearly two years. The official story is that he's suffering from an ailment that necessitates solitude."
"But that's not true," I assume, remembering the prince's sad eyes.
"No." Elm shakes his head. "The king sleeps in a supernatural coma. Prince Thorne has been quietly reigning in his stead this entire time."
The revelation hits me harder than intended. A prince little older than myself, shouldering the load of an entire country alone. "Does anyone else know?"
"Only the most trustworthy advisors. Court Mage Balthren, the Royal Physician, Captain of the Guards. And me." He gives me a wry smile. "The head gardener sees more than most realize."
"Is that why the prince is so..." I look for the proper word.
"Cold? Harsh? Terrifying?" Elm supplies. "Partly. The burden would transform anyone. But there's more." He lowers his voice more. "The king's condition and the gardens' demise began simultaneously. The prince feels they're connected."
I move to the window, staring back toward the gardens that glimmer softly with dying charm in the moonlight. "If the wards fail completely—"
"The Shadowmeres will flood in. They'll drain every magical object in Thornwall until nothing remains."
I shudder. "Including people with magic?"
Elm nods gravely. "You, me, the royal family. Anyone with even a spark."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because the prince is desperate." Elm stands, moving to join me at the window. "Five gardeners before you tried and failed to restore the gardens. Each time, hope flashed and vanished. The prince sent them away before the court could grasp what was happening."
"He didn't execute them?" I can't keep the relief from my voice.
Elm chuckles gently. "Prince Thorne is many things, but not a killer. The rumors serve his goal, though. Fear can be a beneficial tool when time is running out."
"How much time do we have?"
"The winter solstice is less than two months away. The longest night, when the wards are naturally at their weakest." He rests a gnarled hand on my shoulder. "But there's something unusual about you. I've observed you with the plants. They respond to you unlike any gardener I've seen."
I think of how the thornwall roses seemed to reach for me this morning, their withered branches straightening slightly beneath my touch. "Why me? I'm only a local herb-witch."
Elm's eyes narrow thoughtfully. "Perhaps that's exactly what we need. Not another court-trained gardener following the old ways, but someone who listens when the land talks."
A cloud passes across the moon, plunging the place into greater darkness. In that moment, I felt the weight of duty descending on my shoulders.
"There's something else you should know," Elm whispers. "The court is divided. Many suspect the prince himself is somehow creating the blight."
"Is he?"
"I don't know. But his magic..." Elm hesitates. "The royal family has always possessed winter magic. Control over cold and ice. But Prince Thorne rarely utilizes his power. He says it makes things worse."
I remember the frost that spread from his footfall. "Maybe it does."
"Maybe. Or maybe he's terrified." Elm goes approaching the entrance. "Watch him closely. The gardens respond to both of you in odd ways. That might imply something."
"You want me to spy on the prince?" I inquire, concerned.
"I want you to help him, even if he doesn't know how to ask for it." Elm's face softens. "He wasn't always like this. Before his father grew ill, before the blight, he grinned. He laughed".
The concept of the stern-faced royal laughing seems impossible to imagine.
"Get some rest," Elm adds, opening the door. "Tomorrow, I'll show you the eastern gardens. The jasmine there fuels the wards that keep the capital itself safe."
After he departs, I can't sleep. I slip out of the cottage and back into the gardens, drawn by some instinct I can't understand. Under the moonlight, the withered plants look like silver skeletons.
I kneel alongside a thornwall rose, carefully stroking its stem. "What happened to you?" I whisper.
To my shock, I feel a response—not in words, but in sensations. Thirst. Drain. Imbalance.
"What's out of balance?" I ask.
Cold. Too much cold. Need warmth.
I place both palms on the soil, channeling my magic—not forcing, simply offering. A small green glow spreads from my hands, and the rose stem straightens slightly. One withered leaf unfurls, giving a glimpse of green.
A sudden intake of breath behind me makes me whirl around.
Prince Thorne stands watching, his silver eyes reflecting the moonlight. I hadn't heard him approach.
"What are you doing?" His speech is soft but intense.
"They're speaking to me," I murmur, too caught up in the thrill to remember my fear of him. "The plants—they claim there's an imbalance. Too much cold".
Something flickers over his face—hope? Fear? "Show me."
I hesitantly reach for his hand. After a moment's hesitation, he enables me to guide him down next me. His skin is unusually chilly to the touch.
"Place your hand here, next to mine," I instruct, shocked by my own bravery.
He complies, his huge hand lying on the soil inches from me. The effect is immediate—the rose between us shudders, stuck between withering more from his touch and reaching toward the warmth of mine.
"Do you see?" I whisper. "It's not only that they require magic. They need the correct sort."
The prince withdraws his hand sharply, his jaw clenching. "Impossible. My family has nurtured these gardens for generations."
"Maybe something's changed," I say gently.
He stands abruptly. "Return to your cottage. It's not safe to wander at night."
"Because of the Shadowmeres?"
His eyes narrow. "Elm has been talking, I see."
"He thought I should know what I'm fighting against."
Prince Thorne stares out toward the kingdom's limits, where faint flashes of light signal the continuing testing of our fortifications. "Every night they get braver. Every day our defenses deteriorate."
For a brief time, his mask falls, and I see the weight he carries—the anxiety not for himself, but for every individual in Thornwall.
"I won't fail," I promise, startling both of us.
He observes me for a long moment. "Everyone fails eventually."
"Not me," I say with more confidence than I feel. "Not with this."
A glimmer of something—not quite a smile, but a softening around his eyes—transforms his face. "Get some rest, Gardener. Dawn comes early."
As he goes away, I observe something unusual. Where our hands had lain near each other on the earth, the lone rose has produced a tiny bud—the first new growth I've seen in the entire garden.