Page 58 of Awakened Destiny
"This idiot," Lochan jerks his thumb at Callen, "told me if I spoke my deepest wish to the royal gardens' goldenbell flowers, they would make it come true."
Callen's eyes gleam with mischief. "So he spent an entire summer whispering to flowers."
"And you never told me the truth," Lochan adds.
"Because it was hilarious! The stoic warrior-in-training, having deep conversations with plants."
Despite his complaints, Lochan's mouth quirks upward. "I wished for a sword like the King's Guard carried."
"And when he finally got one for his birthday," Callen continues, "he was convinced the flowers had granted his wish."
"I thanked those damn flowers every day for a month."
I laugh, picturing a small, serious Lochan solemnly expressing gratitude to garden plants. "Did you ever figure it out?"
"Caught this one," Lochan nudges Callen, "doubled over laughing while I was in the middle of my flower gratitude ritual."
"His face," Callen says. "I thought he was going to commit regicide with his precious sword."
"I considered it," Lochan admits, and I can see the young boys they once were, one mischievous and one serious, bound together despite their differences.
"Did you forgive him?" I ask Lochan.
"Eventually. After I chased him through the palace and dumped him in the reflection pool."
Callen sighs dramatically. "Ruined my best outfit."
"Worth it," Lochan says, and they share a look of such deep understanding that I feel privileged to witness it.
I realize I'm smiling, genuinely smiling, as we continue along the path. For all its overwhelming beauty and strangeness, the fae kingdom feels a little less intimidating now that I can picture these two as children, playing and fighting and growing up within its borders.
"So," I ask, "are there any other childhood secrets I should know about?"
Their matching grins tell me this is just the beginning.
Chapter Thirty Two
Brigid
The path widens as we venture deeper into the kingdom. My fingers itch to sketch the impossible structures that rise around us, buildings that shouldn't stand but do, defying gravity with spiraling towers and walkways that connect tree to tree.
"Did you grow up here?" I ask, gesturing to a crystalline structure that catches sunlight and fractures it into rainbows.
Callen shakes his head. "The palace is ahead. But I spent plenty of time exploring."
A small creature—part hummingbird, part lizard—darts past my face, hovering for a moment to examine me before zipping away. I freeze, heart stuttering.
"What was that?"
"Whisperling," Lochan explains. "Harmless, just curious about newcomers."
I let out a breath. "Where I grew up, the most exotic wildlife was Mrs. Peterson's overweight tabby cat."
"Hard to imagine you in that world now," Callen says, his hand finding the small of my back. "You belong here."
Do I? The thought both thrills and terrifies me. In Newton, I was invisible—the quiet, weird girl who no one liked, who kept to herself, who worked at the hardware store and sketched during breaks. Here, I'm something else. Someone else.
We pass a marketplace where fae merchants sell goods I can't begin to identify: glowing fruits, bottles labeled with the names of emotions—like fear and desire, fabrics that shift colors with each touch. A child with butterfly wings sprouting from her shoulders runs past us, laughing.
