Chapter 9) The Third Petal
Rain whispered against the stone-paved streets of Rivelan.
Not a storm. Not even a drizzle. Just a soft, almost reverent tapping—like the city itself was holding its breath. The kind of rain that soaked into your clothes slowly, until you weren't sure when comfort had turned to chill.
Caelum walked alone.
His cloak clung to his back, heavy with water. The dagger Elira had given him sat hidden beneath the fabric, sheathed in worn leather. Every step he took echoed faintly through the alleyway, muffled by the rain but clear to him.
He hadn't told anyone where he was going.
He needed to breathe.
Ever since the letter, the fake confession, the warning from Selene, the night with Elira, and the prophecy, everything had blurred together. It wasn't just dancing and stolen glances anymore.
It was power.
Politics.
And he was still Caelum—the boy from the village with hands made for carrying buckets, not navigating daggers behind silk curtains.
He reached the edge of the old quarter. The buildings leaned in tighter here, ancient windows blinking down like watching eyes. He turned into a side street lined with flower stalls—closed now, shutters drawn—but the smell of petals still lingered.
That's when he saw it.
A single flower, pinned to a wooden doorframe.
Violet. Sharp-edged.
A petal missing.
His heart stilled.
He stepped closer, brushing it gently with his fingers.
The same flower as before.
He looked down.
A third violet petal lay at his feet.
He crouched and picked it up.
Still warm.
Still soft.
And beneath it, barely visible against the cobblestone—
A symbol drawn in chalk.
A circle with seven spikes and a slit across the center.
He didn't know what it meant.
But something in him told him this wasn't just a game anymore.
---
Back at the estate, Ardyn was waiting.
Her boots were soaked. Grease stained her sleeves. And her face was locked in a scowl of pure older-sister fury.
"You didn't tell anyone where you went."
"I needed air," Caelum muttered, slipping inside past her.
"You could've been killed."
"I wasn't."
"Next time," she snapped, "at least pretend to care that people are worried."
He stopped.
Turned.
And she saw it in his eyes—something had changed.
"You're serious," she said, voice quieter now.
He nodded. "Three petals."
Her eyes widened. "Three?"
He showed her the newest one, placing it gently in her palm.
She stared at it, then at him.
"I don't like this."
"Neither do I."
---
That evening, the Queen Regent announced a public exhibition in honor of the Seven Houses.
Each house would present its own entertainment to the city.
The princesses were expected to attend.
Caelum was invited.
Not requested.
Not commanded.
Invited.
Which made it worse.
Because that meant someone wanted him to come willingly.
He stood before the invitation in his hands, feeling its weight. The ink glimmered faintly. Seven wax seals lined the bottom.
It was sealed with all seven royal crests.
They all wanted him there.
But why?
---
The event was held in the Grand Plaza, a wide-open square paved with obsidian tiles that shimmered in moonlight. Balconies and banners lined the rooftops, torches flickering in golden holders.
Crowds had gathered.
Minstrels played.
Food vendors called out promises of honeyed almonds and roasted fruits.
At the heart of the square, a raised stage had been built—a perfect circle. Performers stood ready. Dancers. Sword jugglers. Poets.
And just beyond the stage—
Seven thrones.
Empty, for now.
He arrived in silence.
No fanfare. No trumpets.
And yet, heads turned. Whispers bloomed.
"That's him."
"The boy."
"All seven…"
He ignored them, eyes scanning for familiar faces.
Then he saw them.
One by one, the princesses arrived.
Veina in dark emerald, her eyes lined with kohl.
Maribelle in shimmering gold and velvet.
Rhiannon in crimson leather armor, unashamed to clash with the occasion.
Selene in silver and shadow, silent and gliding.
Elira in obsidian and blood-red lace, blade sheathed but visible.
Lira in a pale gown, hair curled into a waterfall of moonlight.
And last—Seraphine.
In black.
Not just black, but darkness itself. Her dress clung to her like smoke, and her eyes gleamed with quiet mischief.
Each of them passed him without a word.
Each of them took their throne.
And Caelum remained standing.
Alone.
---
The performances began.
Veina's house presented a tactical swordplay—two fighters dancing in a mock duel with blades so sharp they split the air.
Maribelle's brought acrobats balancing atop gilded horses.
Rhiannon offered a solo warrior—her cousin, apparently—who shattered a pillar with one punch.
Selene's performers read ancient poetry, their voices echoing through the night like spells.
Elira's faction staged a dramatic reenactment of a war she'd once won.
Lira's performers sang—strange, eerie songs that left the crowd breathless.
And Seraphine…
Seraphine danced.
Alone.
Every movement was sin. Grace. Fire.
And every time her body turned, her gaze met Caelum's.
Only his.
He tried to look away.
Failed.
When the dance ended, the crowd erupted.
But Caelum's blood was cold.
Because Seraphine's final pose—one arm raised, one hand curled near her heart—matched the chalk symbol beneath the petal.
Exactly.
---
After the applause, nobles descended.
The square became a flood of politics and laughter.
Caelum drifted.
Trying not to be noticed.
Failing.
A man in gray silks stepped in front of him, smiling politely. "Lord Caelum, I believe we haven't met."
"I'm not a lord."
The man's smile didn't falter. "Titles come quickly in this city."
"Who are you?"
"Just a messenger. I was asked to give you this."
He handed over a small box.
Then vanished.
Caelum opened it.
Inside was a silver pendant shaped like a seven-pointed star.
He snapped the lid shut.
Too much. Too soon.
He pushed through the crowd, seeking air, and found himself in the garden bordering the plaza.
Selene was there.
Waiting.
"You saw it, didn't you?" she asked.
He nodded.
"The symbol."
She stepped forward. "That dance wasn't just for show. That was a message."
"From who?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, she said, "Come. There's something you need to see."
---
She led him down a path between rosebushes and nightshade.
To a small courtyard hidden by ivy-covered walls.
At the center stood a statue of a queen.
And beneath it—inscribed in ancient script—were the same seven points.
"The first court," Selene whispered. "The first pact. Before the kingdoms were divided."
Caelum crouched to trace the symbol.
"I think someone's trying to restore it," Selene said.
"The court?"
"The unity. Through you."
He stood. "That's insane."
"Is it?"
"You think someone's trying to reform the original court… with me in the center?"
"I don't know," she said. "But the signs point that way."
"Why me?"
"Because you're not one of us. But all of us see you. That makes you dangerous."
He swallowed. "So what do I do?"
Selene looked at him.
Soft.
Sincere.
"Stay alive."
---
Later that night, when Caelum returned to his room, he found the pendant from the box glowing faintly.
He set it on the floorboard.
Beside the petals.
There were now three.
Three petals.
Seven princesses.
And a storm he didn't understand.
But it was coming.
And he was no longer ready to run.