The place at the back of the palace, not too far from the garden where the Mother Tree grows, looked dark and run down from the outside. It had been used to make preparations for the royal family's funerals. But it's been centuries since it was used. The room smelled like dampness, wet earth, and an overwhelming scent of death. But in reality, some people paid no attention to the smell and gathered there.
The walls were made of stacked stones, and the only lighting was a hanging lamp, so the room was pretty dim. There was a rustling sound coming from inside, and a middle-aged man opened the door and threw a stack of big books onto the iron table. There was a thudding sound, and a few people who were already seated jumped when they heard it.
"This is a deeply disappointing situation!" He let out a fierce shout, and it was clear he was pissed off. He looked like a mix of angry and frightened, "Even though it's not the first time a Veridian Queen has been a man, this is a straight-up insult! The Mother Tree has selected a knight commander from the North, a big guy, six feet tall, with a huge build and a fierce, scarred face! On top of that, the man is so thick-headed that he won't take off his armor or put away his sword!"
"He is the son of the Marquis, Evander." Lord Dorian, who'd been sitting a bit off from the table, said something. The older man was enjoying his tea slowly, "The Delve family lineage is as old as the Family Tree itself."
"The people were expecting a beautiful, graceful young woman to become the consort of the frail King Veridian. Instead, they got a knight commander who was already known for successfully leading the Dreadmoor unit. I wonder what the people will say when they see the wedding parade." Lord Ignatius jumped in, and he was one of the royal officials who had been running the kingdom while King Caelum was overcome with grief after Queen Seraphina passed away and The Crown Prince was busy at the church, helping out with various charity projects instead of devoting himself to studying in preparation for taking the throne.
"He's definitely going to stand out like a sore thumb in those royal silk attire. I know he's a viscount, but he's spent his whole life in armor and at war instead of at balls learning the social graces expected of a viscount." Lord Evander spoke once again.
Malakor, who'd been sitting there quietly in the corner, suddenly let out a low, creepy chuckle. He closed the book on his lap with a decisive move, then looked at the three people in front of him.
"The Mother Tree didn't just pick a Queen to be a showpiece on the Veridian throne," He said, his voice as sharp as a blade cutting through the air.
"Given the kingdom's current state, I'm pretty sure She chose that commander knight for a much more important purpose. After all, the Mother Tree is a sacred entity whose will has guided the Veridian royal lineage since time immemorial. Her choice doesn't depend on how a queen should look, a pretty face and all. She needs strong roots, a solid foundation to support the vital nourishment the Tree so desperately needs right now."
Everyone knows that the Great Alchemist bows most deeply before the Mother Tree. Since ancient times, Alchemists have held an oath of respect and obedience toward the Mother Tree. They always put the Mother Tree's needs before their own, so it wasn't surprising that Malakor was pretty upset about the conversation he'd just heard. To him, the three officials' sneers felt like a direct insult to the Mother Tree's dignity.
"But... a man, a little..." Lord Evander made a choking noise and his pale fingers shook like a leaf on the table. "I heard whispers spreading among the people, a rumor started by information that got out through the cracks in the palace servants' stories. They thought this was a curse, a bad result of the Crown Prince's choice to worship God instead of the Mother Tree."
"So, let the rumors go around. Let them keep feeding on the gossip that's rotting their brains," Malakor spoke, his voice now growing louder, breaking the silence of the dusky room. "The name written on the leaves that fall from the Mother Tree is something that can't be messed up by human manipulation. For centuries, this sacred being has done its job, always making sure that Veridian and Arboris have the best possible fate. She chooses souls, and if you dare to deny that decree, then you're defying the Mother Tree herself. So, are you really sure you can handle the consequences that will come your way?"
The room went completely quiet. The Council members exchanged glances full of deep hatred after hearing what Malakor had said. They disliked Malakor because of his knowledge, and they resented Lucian for what they saw as their weakness. This wasn't the first time they had been led by a young king, but the fact that Lucian had never prepared himself to be a king worried them.
Being a king isn't just about giving orders. It's also about managing and understanding the ins and outs of the political world. The weight of responsibility is so heavy, the fact that Lucian spent his childhood in church is causing some concern. And now their concerns have grown because the Queen is only a knight commander. Even though, he is a viscount. And has spent his life fighting and leading troops.
To the Council officials, they were a pair of seemingly incapable monarchs who couldn't be trusted to uphold the kingdom's pillars. But they were more afraid of the darkness spreading through the garden's golden leaves. They were worried that their gold bars would be worthless if they didn't follow the Mother Tree's rules.
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Standing at the edge of the huge north wing window, Thomas looked closely at the lined-up knights in the courtyard below. The servants were rushing to get the royal carriage ready for the big wedding parade. It felt like they were being chased by time, as if they were running out of it. There was no room for the council banquet's grandeur anymore, everything had been scaled back to focus on one urgent goal, given the state of The Mother Tree, which was now withering on the brink of death. But even with all that discipline, Thomas could still catch the anxious glances that occasionally stole a look toward the balcony of the "Queen."
After dealing with all the complaining from the young king, Thomas finally got back to his job overseeing the preparations. The kingdom's fate was racing against the clock.
"The palace feels heavy today," A voice said from behind him.
Thomas turned around and saw Lyra Aethel. The head maid was clearly tired, her hands were stained with the lavender oil she'd used to bring down Soren's fever. After breakfast and the argument in the Solarium, Soren had a high fever once they got back to their chamber. His body was still changing and adapting.
"That's the weight of expectation, Lyra," Thomas replied. "King Caelum left behind a peaceful kingdom, but he left behind a lonely son. Now that son has to lead us through this never-ending winter, with a partner born for battle, not for the throne."
They both paused for a second, thinking about their own things.
"How's His Majesty the Queen?" Thomas asked again, a little worried after hearing about his sudden fever.
"He's doing a lot better now, and I think it's because he's always been in great shape. A body that's been through the ringer over years of battle can handle the pain of these sudden changes."
Thomas took a deep breath, then finally let it out slowly. He kept his eyes on the preparations in the main courtyard, which were almost done.
"The Marrow Pear isn't just a trigger for conception in a body that already has a womb. For a woman, the pain of adaptation is just a minor hassle, since the required changes aren't major. But for a man's body, the fruit is a game-changer, creating a new womb within them to make them a mother. I'm sure the pain His Majesty the Queen is going through now is way worse than any battle wound he's ever had."
"I was there when the Commander woke up," Lyra said softly, walking over to the window to stand beside Thomas. "He reached for his sword, but his hands were shaking so badly he couldn't grip the hilt. It really devastated me, Thomas. He was a man who had lost his way, both mentally and physically. And for what? For a king who could barely look him in the eye and was shaking in his seat?"
"Our king is doing his best," Thomas said. "He knows that every time he touches Soren, he takes a piece of that man's strength. He's the one who feels the most strongly about it. He's got a lot on his plate, just like Soren. This isn't just about pride anymore. Lucian can't keep giving the Queen his way."
Lyra had nothing against Lucian as king, she just felt that the kingdom needed someone more experienced. She'd been there, working for the kingdom her whole life, and by the time she was chosen to be the queen's personal aide after King Caelum's death, she was really committed to the royal family. Everyone who worked here felt sorry for the crown prince, who the king never acknowledged. But, as always, everyone was still pretty worried about the fact that Lucian never really learned the basics of running the kingdom.
She let out a sigh as she looked at the heavy oak door leading to the King's chamber. "Tonight is the first night. The planting. The Alchemists have been preparing the oil all afternoon," She said, wiping her fingers with a towel.
Thomas trembled, "May God help them both. If they can't see past the silk and scars, the Tree will devour them alive before the Heir even has a chance to breathe."
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Soren Vane Delve stood in front of the mirror in his room. He'd asked the servants to give him some space before the parade started this afternoon. Since morning, he'd been running a fever, but thankfully Mrs. Aethel's oil had helped. Now, he stood in silence, wearing only the silk trousers the Veridians had given him.
In the soft light, the golden lines of the Womb-Bloom stood out. Those lines weren't just on his stomach, they spread across his ribs, followed the old scar where a sword had pierced him years ago. He felt like a plot of land plowed for crops he didn't want to plant. Soren touched his stomach. The mark looked like a tree root.
"Could this be a sign that the womb is starting to form here?" He asked quietly. He stopped talking and looked back at the mirror. He reached out and touched it, tracing the line of his own jaw. He looked healthy. He looked radiant. He looked like a lie.
"Dreadmoor," He whispered, His place had a name that felt like a prayer. He thought of the cold wind, the smell of horse sweat, and the biting cold of the snow. Everything was warm here. Everything was handled with care. Everything smelled like jasmine, but in a strange way. It was only his third day here, but it felt like such a long time, he missed Dreadmoor, he missed Mordessa.
Lucian's words were still ringing in his ears, and they were messing with his peace of mind.
Maybe it was because he was still clinging to his old identity as a knight commander, not wanting to let go of his pride. It felt like a thorn in his heart, stirring up emotions he thought he had put to rest. But he couldn't stop himself from feeling a little embarrassed about the whole thing. It felt like his dignity was being taken away, and he was being forced to be a vessel for the King's seed.
The armor he'd worn through thousands of battles was now a thing of the past, replaced by delicate silk wrapped around his body like a tight cocoon. As time passed, his body started to change, a transformation that was part of the magical process. He used to be all about the glory, but now it feels like the throne's arrogance has totally taken that away. There's a big void that makes it hard for him to just feel okay.
But in the end, even his last bit of fighting spirit was gone, and he had to accept his fate. This was the path he had to take—a trade-off of body and soul to help his younger sister out. To him, his pride was worthless compared to making sure Mordessa was safe, which was now in danger.
There was a knock on the door. It wasn't the soft, rhythmic knock of a servant. The sound was heavy and solitary.
"Your Majesty," announced a royal guard. "The king is waiting, all preparations for the wedding parade have been completed."
Soren closed his eyes. This time, he didn't reach for his sword. He knew it wasn't there. Instead, he grabbed the white and gold silk tunic on the bed and threw it over his head.
He walked toward the door, his heavy, well-polished and clean boots clacking against the floor with a bold final rhythm. Behind him, the jasmine in the room smelled stronger, like the whole palace was taking a breath, waiting for the sacrifice to start.
The echoes of the Council's whispers have now faded, fading behind the silence of the palace corridors, while all the uproar and doubts of the people no longer hold any meaning in his heart. As Soren walked through the hall to meet his fate, the only thing he could feel was a burning heat like a fire that seemed to go deep into his flesh and the marrow of his bones. In front of him, the figure of the red-haired King kept looming. The man whose pale, trembling fingers now held tightly the only key to his younger sister's breath of life.
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Outside the palace gates, everyone in downtown Arboris was feeling pretty tense. Even though the winter was long and cold, the city was clean and well-run. The people were dressed well in thick wool and fur, and they were full thanks to the King's well-managed granaries. But there was a collective gloom hanging over the bustling streets.
"They say he's as strong as ten men," a merchant whispered to a group of fellow silk merchants. "They say he arrived in armor and refused to let go of his sword. How could someone like that carry a child? That's a weird path for a mother to take."
"Maybe he really is worthy of being a queen," Replied a woman, pulling her cloak tighter. She looked at the palace's iron gates, thinking about something. "We've been doing well for a while, but it always feels like the cold is just going to stick around no matter what we do. If the Mother Tree picked a knight commander to be a king's consort, it's because she knows we're fighting against the frost. I'd rather have a Queen who can stand up to the wind than one who only knows how to look beautiful."
But no matter how much they think about it, people are still pretty uncertain. The Veridians are a proud people, carrying the legacy of their noble heritage of "Light" and "Grace." So, seeing the gorgeous ruler with flaming red hair now tied to a soldier with pale silver hair, with scars all over his face, is a tough contrast. It's an image they haven't quite been able to incorporate into the traditional beauty standards they've always respected.
Then, all the whispers stopped when the palace's iron gates wide-opened. They shouted loudly, waving flags to welcome the new King and Queen.