The guest suite was larger than Carter Manor's main hall. The ceilings were vaulted, painted with frescoes of celestial events—suns and moons and stars arranged in patterns that probably had astrological significance. The furniture was gilded, every surface covered in gold leaf. The carpets were so thick Evan's boots sank into them without a sound, like walking on clouds.
"There's a sitting room, a bedchamber, a dressing room, a study, and a private balcony," Steward Armand said, gesturing at the various doors. "The balcony overlooks the royal gardens. Meals will be brought to you unless you choose to dine in the great hall. If you need anything, pull the cord by the bed and a servant will attend you."
"Thank you," Evan said, trying not to gawk. The bed alone looked like it could sleep six people comfortably, with a canopy of silk that probably cost more than his old yearly salary. Multiple times over.
"Her Majesty will receive you tomorrow morning," Armand continued. "Until then, you are free to familiarize yourself with the palace grounds. Though I would advise... caution."
"Caution?"
"Some of the artifacts in the palace are... sensitive. And some of the people more so." Armand bowed. "Is there anything else you require?"
"Just... directions to where I won't break anything valuable."
Armand almost smiled. Almost. The corner of his mouth twitched upward for just a moment. "The gardens are generally safe. The library... less so. Many of the books are enchanted and prone to... reactions."
"I'll avoid the library."
"Wise." Another bow. "I will leave you to settle in. A servant will come at dawn to prepare you for your audience."
When Armand was gone, Evan turned to Emma, who was investigating a fruit bowl on a side table. The fruit was perfect—apples without a single blemish, grapes that gleamed like jewels, oranges that looked like they'd been polished.
"These look too good to eat," she said. "Like they're waiting to be painted. Like they'd be offended if you bit into them."
"Everything here looks too good to be real," Evan said, running a hand over a marble column. It was cool and smooth, veined with gold, flawless. "It's like they asked reality to be extra fancy and reality said 'say no more.'"
"Royalty does that." Emma picked up an apple. It didn't bruise under her fingers—just sat there, perfect and unchanging. "They have the best of everything. Including, apparently, apples with self-esteem issues and an existential need to be admired."
Evan moved to the balcony doors and pushed them open. The view beyond stole his breath.
Gardens stretched into the distance, tier after tier of terraces and fountains and carefully manicured hedges, all lit by floating orbs that drifted among the trees and flowers like captive stars. The air was cool, scented with night-blooming jasmine and something else—magic, old and deep, woven into the very soil. Paths wound between flower beds, lined with glowing crystals that pulsed gently. In the distance, a waterfall caught the light, shimmering like liquid silver.
"It's beautiful," he admitted.
"It's a gilded cage," Emma said, joining him. "Beautiful, yes. But still a cage. Just a really, really fancy one."
"You don't like the palace."
"I don't like what it represents." She leaned on the balustrade, looking out at the gardens. "All this beauty, all this wealth, all this perfection—it's built on centuries of politics, alliances, betrayals. Every stone has a story. Most of them involve someone being stabbed in the back. Metaphorically. Usually."
"You're very cynical for someone who grew up in a manor house with a family crest and everything."
"Cynicism is a survival skill in noble circles." She took a bite of the apple. It crunched satisfyingly, juice running down her chin. She didn't bother to wipe it. "Tomorrow, when you meet the queen, remember: she didn't get where she is by being nice. She got there by being smarter, tougher, and more ruthless than everyone else. The nice ones don't last."
"And she wants to meet me because...?"
"Because you're a variable. An unknown. And queens don't like unknowns. They either eliminate them or control them. She's not going to eliminate you—too useful—so she's going to try to control you."
"Charming."
"Just being realistic." She finished the apple and tossed the core over the balcony. It vanished into the darkness below, claimed by whatever creatures lurked in the garden at night. "Get some rest. Tomorrow's going to be... interesting."
After Emma left for her own rooms, Evan explored the suite. The study had a desk of polished ebony, a shelf of books that seemed to rearrange themselves when he wasn't looking, and a fireplace that lit itself when he entered the room, flames springing to life without any visible source.
The bedchamber had the enormous bed, plus a wardrobe already filled with clothes—some his from Carter Manor, some provided by the palace, all impossibly fine. The dressing room had mirrors on every wall, all showing slightly different angles of him looking overwhelmed and slightly lost.
He ended up back on the balcony, watching the floating lights drift through the gardens. Somewhere, music played—a distant harp, its notes sweet and melancholy, carried on the night breeze.
For the first time since arriving in this world, Evan felt truly out of place. At Carter Manor, he'd been confused, yes. Overwhelmed, certainly. But there had been a sense of... ownership. However bizarre it was, it was his bizarre. His manor. His family. His chaos.
Here, he was a guest. An anomaly. A problem to be managed and assessed and potentially controlled.
A light flickered in the gardens below. Then another. Then a whole path of them, leading away from the palace into the deeper woods at the garden's edge.
Evan stared. The lights pulsed gently, rhythmically, like a heartbeat. Like an invitation.
He knew he shouldn't. He knew it was probably a terrible idea. He knew that wandering off into magical gardens at night was how people in fairy tales got turned into frogs or trapped in endless dances or married to creatures made of moonlight.
But he also knew he wasn't going to sleep. And the lights were beautiful. And after a day of being measured and fitted and instructed and stared at, he needed something that wasn't about expectations.
"Ah, what the hell," he muttered. "In for a penny, in for accidentally animating a topiary."
He found a staircase leading down from the balcony to the garden level. The night air was cooler here, the scents stronger—jasmine and roses and something earthier, more primal. The floating lights continued to beckon, bobbing along a path of white stones that gleamed in the darkness.
Evan followed.
The garden at night was a different world. Flowers glowed with soft bioluminescence, their petals shedding gentle light. Trees whispered secrets to each other in rustling leaves, their branches creaking softly. A stream chuckled over stones, its water silver in the moonlight, carrying tiny glowing fish that darted between the rocks.
The path led him deeper, away from the palace lights and sounds. The floating orbs drifted ahead, always just far enough to lead but not so far that he lost them. They moved with purpose, like they knew where they were going.
He passed a fountain where the water flowed upward, defying gravity in a sparkling column that caught the moonlight and scattered it like diamonds. He passed a hedge sculpted into the shape of a dragon, its leaves shimmering like scales, its eyes—were those eyes?—gleaming in the darkness. He passed a tree whose bark was patterned like a chessboard, with actual chess pieces carved from crystal sitting on its branches, moving occasionally as if playing an invisible game.
Then the path opened into a clearing. In the center stood a tree unlike any he'd seen—its trunk was silver, its leaves were gold, and its branches were hung with crystal fruits that chimed softly in the breeze, each one singing a different note.
Beneath the tree sat a woman.
She was older, with silver hair braided intricately and eyes that held the weight of years—decades, centuries, lifetimes. She wore simple robes of dark blue, practical and unadorned, and she was feeding breadcrumbs to a circle of glowing moths that fluttered around her hands like living jewelry.
She looked up as Evan entered the clearing. Her expression was calm, unsurprised, like she'd been expecting him for hours.
"Lord Carter," she said. Her voice was warm, melodic, carrying the weight of someone who'd spent a lifetime speaking to plants and having them listen. "I wondered if you would follow the lights."
"The lights were... persuasive," Evan said, stopping at the edge of the clearing. "Very convincing. Good arguments for coming here. I hope I'm not intruding."
"Not at all. The garden is for all who seek it." She gestured to a stone bench beside her. "Join me. The moths don't bite. Much."
Evan approached cautiously. The bench was cool beneath him, the stone smooth from years of use. The moths fluttered around his head, their wings leaving trails of soft light, their bodies warm against his skin.
"You're not what I expected," the woman said, studying him with eyes that missed nothing. "There's a... practicality about you. A groundedness. Most nobles your age are all polish and no substance. You look like you've actually thought about things."
"I'm not most nobles," Evan said. "In fact, I'm barely a noble at all. I'm still figuring out which fork to use."
"Ah, but you are. However you arrived at it, the mantle is yours. The title, the magic, the responsibility." She offered him a piece of bread. "For the moths. They're quite friendly once you get to know them. They remember kindness."
Evan took the bread. A moth immediately landed on his hand, its wings shimmering with blues and greens, its body soft and warm. It nibbled at the bread with delicate precision, antennae twitching.
"I'm Althea," the woman said. "The royal gardener. Though 'royal' is just a title—the garden belongs to itself. I just help it along."
"Evan." He watched the moth. It seemed perfectly content on his hand, unconcerned by his magical reputation. "The garden is... incredible. I've never seen anything like it."
"Thank you. It's my life's work. My legacy." She gestured around them. "Every plant here has a story. Every tree a memory. Every flower a dream someone once had. The palace may be the kingdom's heart, but the garden is its soul."
Evan looked at the silver tree above them, its crystal fruits chiming softly. "And this one?"
"The Memory Tree," Althea said softly. "Its fruits are crystal because memories, when properly preserved, are hard and clear and beautiful. They don't fade or change. They just... are." She reached up, touching one of the chiming fruits. It glowed brighter at her touch. "Each one holds a moment. A joy. A sorrow. A lesson. A life."
The fruit she touched glowed even brighter, and for a moment, Evan heard something—laughter, bright and youthful, full of joy. A woman's voice. A man's response. The sound of a promise.
"Your magic is strong here," Althea said, changing the subject smoothly. "The garden responds to you. See?"
Evan looked. The flowers nearest him had turned to face him, their petals opening wider. The grass beneath his feet was greener, lusher, growing visibly as he watched. Even the Memory Tree's chimes seemed softer, sweeter, more melodic.
"I don't mean to... influence things," he said.
"Magic isn't about meaning, Lord Carter. It's about being. Your being... encourages growth. Improvement. Not destruction, as they say, but evolution." She smiled. "The garden likes you. That's not nothing."
"That's a kinder way of putting it than most people use."
"Truth is often kinder than rumor." She fed the last of her bread to the moths. "Tomorrow you meet the queen."
"Everyone keeps reminding me."
"She will test you. Not with magic—with words. With questions. With implications." Althea met his eyes. "Be careful what you promise. And more careful what you reveal. The queen is... skilled at extracting information without appearing to ask for it."
"I don't have much to reveal. I'm as confused as everyone else."
"Confusion can be a strength. It makes you unpredictable." She stood, brushing breadcrumbs from her robes. The moths followed her movement, swirling around her head like a living halo. "The garden will always welcome you, Lord Carter. When the politics become too much, remember there are places where truth still grows wild, where things are what they are without pretense."
She walked away, disappearing down a path that hadn't been there a moment before. The moths followed her, their lights fading into the darkness.
Evan sat alone under the Memory Tree, listening to the crystal fruits chime. The sounds wove together into something like music—sad and sweet and hopeful all at once, a song of things remembered and things yet to come.
After a while, he stood. The path back was lit by fireflies now, their golden light guiding him to the palace. The garden seemed to sigh as he left, the flowers closing slightly, the trees settling back into stillness.
As he reached his balcony, he looked back. The garden was dark again, just shapes and shadows. But he could still hear the Memory Tree's chimes, faint but clear on the night air.
He went inside, closing the balcony doors behind him. The suite was quiet, still, waiting.
Tomorrow would come. With all its tests and politics and dangers.
But for tonight, there had been breadcrumbs and moths and a tree that remembered. There had been a woman who saw him clearly and wasn't afraid.
It was enough.
***