Choosing the most sensitive plants from my nursery beds, I spend the rest of the day getting ready for tomorrow's test. As twilight sets, bringing with it a bone-deep chill, I find myself standing at the edge of the East Garden, rehearsing what I'll say to convince the recalcitrant prince.
"You shouldn't be outdoors alone."
I swivel around to find Thorne himself standing in the shadows, his glittering eyes reflecting the gathering moonlight.
"Your Highness," I say, my breath misting between us. "I was simply—"
"Planning your arguments against me." His mouth quirks slightly. By now, "I know that look."
He's right, which just aggravates me more. Two weeks of working alongside him has made us frustratingly attuned to each other's moods.
I continue, straying from my well-practiced statement, "We have to tell the council what we have found." "About the equilibrium." About your magic and mine cooperating."
His expression hardens. "We've had this conversation."
"And we'll keep having it until you listen to reason!" My voice swells, booming across the empty garden. "People are suffering while you maintain this ludicrous pretense. The court thinks you're heartless—"
"Good." He steps closer, frost crystallizing on the path beneath his feet. "Fear keeps them in line. If they understood how desperate our situation truly is—"
"They might assist! Not everyone is like Lady Revira."
His laugh is harsh. "You've been here barely half a month. I've spent my entire life negotiating judicial politics."
"And where has that gotten you?" I indicate toward the withering eastern beds. "Dying gardens, failing wards, and shadows at our doorstep. Your way isn't working."
Something dangerous flashes in his gaze. The temperature plummets till my teeth chatter.
"My way keeps this empire standing while my father fades away! My way averted chaos in the streets! My way—" He pauses abruptly, frost cracking over a neighboring fountain, freezing its waters mid-flow.
I should retreat. Anyone with sense would. Instead, I step closer.
"Your way is killing you," I say softly. "I see it every day. The frost spreads deeper each time you utilize your power. You're burning yourself out trying to compensate for the imbalance."
Thorne turns aside, but not before I catch the sorrow in his eyes. "Leave it alone."
"I can't." My hand lunges for his arm, pausing at the last second. "You asked me to save the gardens. I can't do it without addressing the core reason."
"The root cause is complex—"
"The root cause is fear!" The words spilled from me. "You're terrified to trust anyone. You're terrified of your own magic. You're terrified of what happens if you aren't perfect."
Frost crackles between us as his control falls. "You have no idea what I'm afraid of."
"Then tell me! Stop pushing away the one person who might genuinely understand!"
His eyes flicker dangerously. "Understand? You think your village gardening gives you insight into royal responsibility? Into what it means to bear an entire kingdom's survival?"
The words sting, but I stand my ground. "No. But I comprehend magic. I understand equilibrium. And I understand what happens when something—or someone—tries to carry more than they were built to handle."
"I was born to bear this burden."
"Not alone," I insist. "The writings in the ancient greenhouse are clear. Winter and spring magic were supposed to function in unison. Two rulers, two sorts of power."
He looks back, expression frigid as the frost spreading around us. "Those days are gone. The spring bloodline was eliminated ages ago."
"Then what am I?" I demand. "What happens when we work together? The gardens respond to both of us, Thorne. You've seen it."
"Coincidence."
"Liar." I step forward till barely a handspan separates us. "You felt it too. When our hands touched in the western garden. When the roses bloomed overnight. Something happens when we unite our magic."
His jaw tightens. "It's too dangerous to explore."
"More dangerous than doing nothing?" I throw my hands up in frustration. "Your stubborn pride will doom us all!"
"It's not pride!" he roars, cold magic blasting outward. Icicles form on neighboring branches, and flowers freeze mid-bloom. "It's protection! Every time I utilize my ability, the blight worsens. Every time I let the cold run through me, something in this kingdom dies!"
I blink in shock. This is the first time he's admitted it aloud.
"The previous gardeners," he adds, voice quivering, "they got close to the truth. Too close. I sent them away before Revira could use them—use this weakness—against me."
"You're not weak," I mumble. "You're incomplete."
Something vulnerable crosses his face before the mask returns. "It doesn't matter. The council would never support change now, not with the wards failing. I must be the Winter Prince they expect."
"Even if it kills you? Even if it kills Thornwall?"
"If that's what it takes." He turns to go.
"No!" I clutch his wrist, ignoring the searing cold that runs through my fingers. "There has to be another way."
He looks down at my hand, his expression unclear. "Let go."
"Not until you listen."
"You don't understand what you're doing."
"I understand perfectly," I assert, strengthening my grasp despite the ice scorching my flesh. "I'm trying to save you from yourself."
"Let go." Each phrase becomes a crystal of ice in the air between us.
"Make me."
For a minute, his disguise slips altogether. Fear, need, and something deeper flash across his face. Then his control breaks.
Winter magic surges between us, so frigid it burns. I shriek out, staggering backward as cold coats my fingertips. The ache is severe, tears leaping to my eyes.
Horror floods over Thorne's face. "I—I didn't mean—"
The tears stream down my cheeks, spilling to the frozen ground. "This is exactly what I mean," I say through chattering teeth. "You can't control it anymore. You need help. You need balance."
"I've hurt you." He looks stricken, reaching for my hands but pulling back, frightened to cause further hurt.
I force my fingers to flex, wincing. "I'll heal."
"I should never have brought you here," he whispers. "I was selfish, desperate—"
"Stop." My tears continue to fall, littering the frost-covered soil at our feet. "This isn't just about you anymore. It's about all of Thornwall. About finding a solution before it's too late."
He steps back, resuming his royal mask. "There is no solution. Not in time. The winter solstice is weeks distant, and the wards grow weaker every day. I've accepted what must happen."
"Which is what? Martyring yourself? Freezing from the inside out?"
"If necessary."
The finality in his voice breaks something in me. More tears flow as he turns and goes away, leaving me alone in the freezing garden. I slump to my knees, no longer caring about the cold seeping through my dress.
"Stubborn, impossible man," I murmur, placing my palm against the freezing soil. "Why won't you see what's right in front of you?"
My tears continue flowing, melting little circles in the frost. I sit there long after Thorne goes, letting grief and frustration pour freely. Eventually, tiredness overtakes me. I drag myself back to my hut, collapsing into restless dreams of ice and thorns.
Morning delivers an unexpected find.
I step into the garden at daylight, still nursing my frost-nipped fingertips, and halt short. Where my tears fell last night, unbelievable flowers have bloomed—unlike anything I've ever seen. Their petals are crystalline at the edges but pulsating with life at the centers, each one bearing both frost and vibrancy.
"Impossible," I say, kneeling to study them. They hum with magic—not just my earth magic, but something more. Something mixed.
I hurry across the gardens, searching for Thorne, ultimately finding him in consultation with Balthren. Both men fall motionless at my breathless arrival.
"You need to see this," I manage between gulps of air. "Now."
Skepticism furrows Thorne's forehead, but he follows me to the East Garden. When he sees the new blooms, he freezes mid-step.
"What are they?" he whispers.
"Proof," I say simply. "My tears fell here yesterday night. Tears generated by your winter magic. But instead of destroying, they made."
Balthren kneels, inspecting the odd blooms with awe. "Frost blooms," he murmurs. "Winter and spring charm intertwined. I've only read about such things in old literature."
Thorne's gaze travels from the flowers to my bandaged hand, shame lighting across his features.
"Don't you see?" I press. "This is what I've been trying to tell you. Our magics aren't opposed—they're complementary. The balance the realm needs isn't about removing winter magic. It's about pairing it with spring."
For the first time since I've known him, genuine hope flickers in Thorne's silver eyes.
"It's not enough," he says, but there's less conviction in his voice. "A few flowers can't save the kingdom."
"It's a start," I counter. "And it proves my theory. The solution isn't repairing the old magic—it's inventing something new."
Before he can react, a palace guard races toward us, face pale with urgency.
"Your Highness!" he gasps. "The eastern barrier—it's failing completely!"