Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Beneath the beauty of the Luma Garden, three hearts were about to discover that magic was not the only force capable of creating chaos.
Shaynna stood beside a fountain of luminous water, her fingers tracing the delicate patterns of a flower she had never seen before. She still felt like a stranger in this magnificent kingdom—a nameless maiden suddenly surrounded by princes, ancient prophecies, and secrets that seemed to know her better than she knew herself.
Across from her stood Prince Jero of Agordom.
His dark-red cloak stirred in the breeze, its golden embroidery glimmering like molten embers. Unlike the distant and imposing nobles she had encountered since arriving in Luminosus, Jero possessed an easy confidence, the kind that made a royal garden feel less like a palace and more like a place where two ordinary people might speak honestly.
Or so Shaynna hoped.
“You have been staring at that flower for quite some time,” Jero remarked.
Shaynna glanced at him. “Perhaps it is the only thing here that doesn't expect me to know who I am.”
Jero's smile softened.
“And do you?”
“Know who I am?”
He nodded.
Shaynna looked toward the fountain. “Yesterday, I was a girl who knew the sound of a waterfall better than the sound of a royal decree. Today, everyone speaks as though my arrival means something.” She paused. “I don't know whether to be grateful or afraid.”
“Then be both,” Jero answered. “Gratitude keeps us humble. Fear reminds us that we are still alive.”
She laughed softly. “Is that something they teach princes?”
“No. They teach princes how to smile while being miserable.”
This time, Shaynna laughed for real.
The sound surprised them both.
For a fleeting moment, the burdens of bloodlines and kingdoms seemed to disappear. There was no prophecy between them, no council watching from the shadows, no enchanted water waiting to swallow a maiden into the unknown.
Only a young woman and a prince who had discovered that conversation could be more dangerous than a sword.
“What about you, Prince Jero?” she asked. “Are you always this philosophical?”
“Only when speaking to beautiful strangers.”
Shaynna raised an eyebrow.
“Then I suppose you must spend a great deal of time thinking.”
Jero pressed a hand against his chest, pretending to suffer a mortal wound.
“Cruel. Absolutely cruel. And here I thought the Water Kingdom produced only gentle maidens.”
“Perhaps you should stop assuming.”
“Perhaps I should.”
Their eyes met.
For a heartbeat, neither spoke.
Then Jero leaned against the fountain's carved edge, his expression turning thoughtful.
“Tell me something, Shaynna. If you could return to the place you came from, would you?”
The question settled between them like a stone sinking into still water.
She remembered the waterfall. The familiar forest. The moments before everything changed. And, inevitably, she remembered Finio.
“I would return to the life I understood,” she whispered. “But I don't know if that life still exists.”
Jero studied her face.
“Then perhaps you are not here to find your old life.”
“What am I here to find?”
He smiled faintly.
“Perhaps the answer is waiting for you.”
A sudden voice interrupted from behind them.
“How wonderfully mysterious.”
Shaynna turned.
Prince Finio stood beneath the garden archway, one hand resting against a marble pillar. His royal attire gleamed white and gold, and his expression carried the unmistakable serenity of a man who had absolutely no intention of admitting he had been listening.
His eyes moved from Jero to Shaynna.
Then back to Jero.
“How fortunate,” Finio continued, “that Agordom has finally sent us a philosopher. I was beginning to worry that the kingdom of fire had nothing to offer but smoke.”
Jero straightened.
“And I was beginning to worry that Luminosus had nothing to offer but princes who appear whenever a conversation becomes interesting.”
Finio smiled.
It was not a friendly smile.
“Interesting? Forgive me. I mistook it for an interrogation conducted beside a fountain.”
“An interrogation?” Jero asked. “I was merely getting to know our guest.”
“Our guest,” Finio repeated, placing particular emphasis on the words. “How considerate of you.”
Shaynna looked between them.
“Finio—”
“Please, don't let me interrupt.” He gestured grandly toward the fountain. “I would hate to deprive Prince Jero of the opportunity to discover your favorite flower, your deepest fears, and perhaps the precise hour at which you prefer to be rescued.”
Jero's brows rose.
“Rescued?”
“It's a figure of speech.”
“An interesting one, considering I haven't offered to rescue anyone.”
“Not yet.”
The silence that followed was so perfectly awkward that even the enchanted birds above them seemed to stop singing.
Shaynna folded her arms.
“Are you two always like this?”
“Absolutely not,” Jero replied.
“Unfortunately,” Finio said at the same time, “yes.”
She pressed her lips together, fighting a smile.
Finio noticed.
Naturally, he noticed.
And somehow, that made everything worse.
He approached them, his steps measured, his expression carefully composed. Yet beneath his princely elegance, something restless flickered in his eyes.
He had seen Shaynna smile at Jero.
It was a small thing.
A harmless thing.
A thing that had no business bothering him as much as it did.
And yet, there it was—a sharp, unfamiliar ache beneath his ribs.
“Shaynna,” he said, his voice softening, “I was looking for you.”
She tilted her head. “You found me.”
“Yes. I see that.”
Jero looked toward the watching moon.
“Perhaps I should leave you two to your conversation.”
“How noble,” Finio remarked. “A rare quality among princes of Agordom.”
Jero chuckled.
“You know, Prince Finio, for someone who claims not to be interested in our conversation, you seem remarkably determined to remain part of it.”
“I'm interested in the welfare of our guest.”
“Of course.”
“And the reputation of this kingdom.”
“Certainly.”
“And the possibility that certain visiting princes might mistake hospitality for an invitation to court someone else's—”
“Finio!” Shaynna exclaimed.
He stopped.
For the first time since his arrival, the prince of Luminosus looked genuinely caught off guard.
Shaynna's cheeks warmed, but her gaze remained steady.
“I am standing right here. You can speak to me instead of speaking about me.”
The words struck harder than any insult.
Jero lowered his eyes, concealing a smile.
Finio, meanwhile, appeared to be searching every corner of his royal education for an appropriate response.
At last, he bowed his head.
“You are right.”
Shaynna blinked.
Jero blinked.
Somewhere in the heavens, the ancient spirits of Avelia might well have recorded this unprecedented event.
Finio exhaled.
“I apologize.”
“Accepted,” Shaynna replied. “But only if you stop behaving as though I am a royal treasure that someone might steal.”
Jero cleared his throat.
“An excellent comparison. Though I imagine treasures are usually less difficult to converse with.”
Shaynna turned toward him.
“And princes are usually less difficult to tolerate.”
Jero laughed.
Finio did not.
Not immediately, anyway.
But when Shaynna glanced at him, the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
For a moment, the three of them stood beneath the golden canopy of the garden, their rivalry softened by laughter and the strange intimacy of being young in a world that expected them to be legends.
Then Jero offered Shaynna a respectful bow.
“May I have the pleasure of continuing our conversation another time?”
Before she could answer, Finio stepped forward.
“Of course. The gardens are open to all guests.”
Jero straightened slowly.
“How generous of you.”
“I have been told generosity is a virtue.”
“And jealousy?”
Finio's smile froze.
Shaynna stared at Jero.
“Jealousy?” Finio repeated, his voice dangerously calm.
Jero spread his hands.
“An innocent question.”
“Then allow me an innocent answer.” Finio moved closer, his golden eyes meeting Jero's. “I am not jealous.”
“Wonderful.”
“Not even slightly.”
“Reassuring.”
“I simply find it fascinating that a prince who arrived only recently has already developed such a profound interest in a maiden he barely knows.”
Jero's expression grew serious.
“Perhaps that is because I wish to know her before deciding what she means to me.”
The words quieted the garden.
Shaynna's smile faded into something more thoughtful.
For all his teasing, Jero had spoken with a sincerity she had not expected.
Then he bowed once more and departed beneath the archway, his red cloak disappearing into the golden light.
Finio watched until he was gone.
“You really aren't jealous?” Shaynna asked.
“Not at all.”
“Your jaw is clenched.”
“I have an unfortunate jaw.”
“And you interrupted us three times.”
“An unfortunate habit.”
“And you called him a philosopher of smoke.”
“He deserved that.”
Shaynna laughed, shaking her head.
Finio finally looked at her.
The fading moonlight caught the gold in his eyes, revealing something more vulnerable than the sarcasm he had worn like armor.
“I didn't like seeing you look at him that way,” he admitted.
Shaynna's laughter slowly disappeared.
“Why?”
For once, the prince had no clever answer.
Because he feared losing her.
Because he had not understood how much her presence mattered until another man made her smile.
Because the heart, unlike magic, rarely asked permission before choosing its battles.
But he said none of these things.
Instead, he looked toward the fountain.
“I suppose,” he murmured, “I am still learning how to share a garden.”
Shaynna stepped beside him.
“Then perhaps you should begin by learning that I am not the garden.”
Finio turned toward her.
“No,” he whispered. “You are not.”
Above them, the first stars appeared over Luminosus.
And somewhere far beyond the palace walls, beneath the ancient foundations of Gathorio, a faint crimson pulse awakened within the Blood Gemstone.
Once.
Twice.
Then silence.
Neither prince nor maiden saw it.
But deep inside the imprisoned crystal, a thousand forgotten souls stirred.
For while three young hearts began to discover the fragile language of affection, an older darkness was preparing to remind.
Avelia that some things, once awakened, could never be put back to sleep.
The stone beneath their feet still held the day’s heat. Finio’s hand brushed hers without intent, then stayed. Shaynna did not pull away. They stood listening to the water fold over itself in the basin, each drop marking a second neither of them counted.
A night breeze lifted the hem of her gown and carried the scent of orange blossom from the far terrace. Somewhere inside the palace, a door opened and closed, the sound small and final. Finio’s fingers found hers properly now, the grip light, asking. She answered with the smallest shift of her palm against his.
Far below the city, the Blood Gemstone’s pulse had settled into a slow, patient rhythm. It measured the distance between two hands that had finally touched. It measured the distance between what was said and what waited beneath the words. It measured the time left before the next fracture reached the surface and the first voice escaped.