The palace gates opened at dawn, and with them came the first tendrils of green.
They weren't ordinary banners or garlands — they were living vines, lush and vibrant, crawling up the marble arch as if claiming it for their own. Flowers in impossible colors bloomed in their wake, releasing scents so sweet they almost masked the faint bitterness beneath.
Aria realized, with a strange shiver, that beauty could choke just as easily as poison.
The procession that followed was unlike any the court had seen.
Men and women dressed in flowing garments the color of spring forests and deep summer leaves moved as though in rhythm with the wind. Birds flitted between their shoulders. Wolves padded alongside their horses without chains or bridles. In the center of it all, walking slowly and without hurry, came the King of the Verdant Wilds — a man who looked as though he had stepped straight from the dreams of the lonely.
But in his eyes, Aria caught the glint of someone who never stopped calculating.
He was tall, but not in the intimidating, statuesque way of the Frostlands King. His build was lithe, more like a dancer than a soldier, and his skin held the warmth of sunlit bronze. His hair was the color of dark honey, long enough to brush his shoulders, catching the light as though it had been spun with threads of gold. His lips curved in a smile meant to seem careless.
Yet the way his gaze slid over her — and lingered at the faint tension in her shoulders — felt as if he'd already learned something no one else had noticed.
When he reached her, he did not bow in the stiff, formal way the others had. Instead, he took her hand in both of his, lifting it slowly, his touch feather-light yet deliberate.
"Your Majesty," he said softly, his voice like rain on warm soil, "the air tastes sweeter here because of you."
Aria's heart betrayed her with a traitorous flutter, even as she told herself to step back.
The court watched as servants carried forward his gift.
It wasn't gold, nor jewels, nor any artifact carved by human hands. Instead, they brought a great crystal basin filled with rich black soil, from which grew a single, breathtaking tree — small enough to carry, yet alive with blossoms that shifted color as the light moved. Each petal seemed to hum faintly, as though in song.
Aria felt wonder rise in her chest… and then the unease when she noticed the roots curling down through the soil, searching for something to wrap around.
The Verdant King's lips curved as he spoke.
"It blooms only in the presence of someone it chooses. It has chosen you."
Aria smiled faintly, though in her mind she could not help but hear the echo of his words twisted into another meaning: I choose you, and I will not let go.
Later, when the formalities ended, she found herself in the palace gardens, drawn there by the lingering scent of his arrival.
She thought she was alone until she saw him leaning against a marble column, the sunlight filtering through vine-laced trellises to paint his features in dappled gold.
"I thought you might come here," he said, as though the thought had been inevitable.
Before she could reply, he stepped closer, guiding her deeper into the maze of greenery until the sounds of the palace faded.
He stopped beside a tall, spiraling plant with petals like pale silk. "It drinks only moonlight," he told her. "Touch it, and it will remember you."
When her fingers brushed the soft bloom, his hand covered hers — warm, steady, and unmistakably lingering.
The touch should have felt harmless, yet it wasn't.
It was a claiming without words, an intimacy the others had not dared to breach in daylight.
Her pulse quickened, and she hated how easily his presence unraveled her defenses.
She stepped back, needing space, but he didn't follow.
Instead, he smiled — that slow, knowing smile that said he could wait, because the seed had already been planted.
And deep inside, she feared he was right.
Their private moment shattered when the Frostlands King appeared at the garden's edge.
His voice was cool steel as he addressed the Verdant King: "You seem to enjoy straying from the assembly."
The Verdant King didn't turn. "I go where beauty calls me." The words weren't sharp, yet somehow they landed like a blade.
Aria expected the Frostlands King to challenge him, but instead he gave her a long, unreadable look before turning away.
And just like that, the Verdant King had won something she could not name — a small, dangerous victory carved out between the leaves.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the Verdant King found her again.
"I have something to show you," he murmured, low enough that no one else could hear. "But not here. Not now."
The air between them was thick with unspoken promise.
She hesitated — every instinct warned her not to follow where he might lead.
And yet, the curiosity, the pull of something forbidden, was stronger.
When he extended his hand, she placed hers in it.
He leaned close enough for his breath to brush her ear.
"Midnight," he whispered. "The greenhouse at the edge of the gardens."
Her heart thudded, a single warning and a single thrill tangled together.
As he left, she realized the sweet scent from earlier still clung to her skin.
And she wasn't sure whether she wanted it to fade — or to sink deeper until it was part of her.