The sun filtered through the lacework of leaves above, dappling the stone paths of the inner estate garden in a shifting mosaic of gold and green. Spring had wrapped the grounds of House Thorne in soft new life. Petals floated gently through the air, stirred by the lazy wind, drifting past the elegant wrought-iron arches that framed the private sanctuary.
Caelum stood at the edge of the arbor, watching as Elowen knelt beside a low, flowering bush. Her hands were buried delicately in the soil, her face streaked with earth but aglow with peace. The soft humming that slipped past her lips was quiet, nearly lost to the rustle of leaves—but it made something stir in his chest.
"You're not going to ruin your dress, are you?" Caelum called gently, stepping forward with a grin tugging at his lips.
Elowen looked up, startled for a moment before her expression softened into a smile. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, leaving a faint smudge of soil across her cheek. "I have dozens of them," she said simply. "This one's already my favorite. That means I won't mind if it gets a little ruined."
Caelum sat beside her on the grass without hesitation. "You have favorites?"
"I didn't used to," she replied quietly. "But lately, I find myself noticing things. Colors. Patterns. How certain fabrics feel when I'm with you. It's strange, but... I like it."
His fingers brushed hers as he reached to touch the same bloom she had been tending to. A flicker of something invisible passed between them—like the warmth of sunlight felt through closed eyes. The flower, a delicate star-shaped blossom in lavender and white, quivered faintly... and then fully opened, petals widening as if reacting to their closeness.
Neither of them commented on it. The silence spoke more than enough.
They spent most of the morning in the garden.
Caelum helped her repot a stubborn vine, and in return, Elowen shared a childhood memory about sneaking into the greenhouse and naming every single plant after characters from fairy tales. It was a different kind of story—one not born of darkness or whispered curses, but of innocence and forgotten laughter.
When Caelum laughed at the idea of a tulip named Sir Gallant the Third, Elowen leaned against his shoulder, barely touching, but not pulling away. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I never got to tell those stories to anyone. No one ever asked."
"You can tell me all of them," he murmured, letting his head rest lightly against hers. "Every single one."
There was a beat of stillness—like the world itself paused to breathe with them.
Later that afternoon, they retreated to the estate's grand library. Caelum had suggested it after lunch, and Elowen had agreed immediately, her expression brightening like a flower toward sunlight.
The air inside the library was cool and fragrant with old parchment and cedar. The high windows let in shards of light that broke across the carpeted floor in lazy angles. Towering bookshelves loomed in every direction, forming narrow passageways like forest trails.
"Where do we start?" Caelum asked, peering up at the tallest shelf. "Philosophy or fairy tales?"
Elowen tilted her head, amused. "Why not both?"
He followed her to a small alcove with a bay window and a cushioned seat. As they settled in, Caelum pulled a book at random and opened it across both their laps. It was an illustrated tome on magical fauna, written in the poetic prose of old scholars.
They read aloud in turns, pausing now and then to comment, joke, or simply sit in silence while their hands brushed or rested together. At one point, Elowen became intrigued by an illustration of a moonshadow hare—an ethereal beast that could only be seen under starlight. She traced its shape with her fingertip, eyes sparkling.
Caelum watched her instead of the page. Her joy was magnetic. Every flicker of curiosity or laughter that crossed her face made something deepen in him, like a well being filled one ripple at a time.
"I wonder," Elowen mused aloud, "if there's a creature out there that reacts to feelings instead of light."
Caelum blinked. "Like...?"
"Like a flower that only blooms when someone feels safe." Her voice had gone soft. "Or a bird that sings only when someone is truly happy."
He swallowed, heart thudding a little harder. "If there is, I bet it's been hanging around us all day."
Elowen's cheeks flushed, and she turned her gaze toward the window. "Don't tease."
"I'm not," he said. "Not really."
They sat in silence for a moment after that, the book resting forgotten between them.
As dusk crept in and servants began to light lanterns throughout the manor, Caelum and Elowen found themselves on the balcony outside her room, a familiar place by now. The stars were slow to appear, scattered like memories across the velvet sky.
She leaned on the balustrade, arms folded, hair gently tousled by the breeze. Caelum stood beside her, watching the shadows stretch and settle across the garden below.
"Do you remember the first night I arrived?" he asked quietly.
Elowen nodded without looking at him. "You gave me bread. Like a stray animal."
"You looked like you might bolt."
"I might have," she admitted. Then, after a pause, she added, "But I didn't. Because you looked at me like I was real. Like I wasn't dangerous."
"You aren't," he said firmly.
Elowen turned to face him, and in the soft lantern light, her eyes shimmered with something vulnerable and precious. "You say that. But I feel dangerous. All the time."
Caelum took a step closer. "Not to me."
There was a moment—one suspended in air and breath and quiet wishes—before she reached out, fingers curling lightly into the sleeve of his tunic.
"I think you're changing me, Caelum," she whispered. "And I don't know if I should be scared or grateful."
He raised a hand, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Maybe a little of both?"
Elowen laughed softly, and the sound settled between them like starlight.
Later, when Caelum returned to his room, he found the notebook already lying open on his desk, though he was sure he had left it closed. The ink on the page shimmered faintly, as if not quite dried.
There were no new instructions. No glowing alerts.
Just a single line written in delicate script:
"She blooms in your presence."
Caelum stared at the words for a long moment. Then he smiled, closed the book, and whispered, "So do I."