Chapter Text
Far away and rather long ago, there was a splendid and prosperous kingdom, where a great many flowers bloomed under the watchful eye of the Faerie King and his fair Queen. Trade was prosperous, the people were almost deliriously happy, and the royal family was blessed with four beautiful and remarkably well-behaved children.
It was disturbing.
Like an entire kingdom of golden retrievers.
It should not be at all possible to maintain a thriving economy when one is throwing festivals every other week. You cannot survive on cake and dancing, it’s a theoretical impossibility.
But we digress.
Once upon a time… got that.
King and Queen, alive, happy… that, too.
Ah, yes. Children.
The eldest was the lovely Princess Mia, Beloved of All Who...did they truly write this in a history book? There are four of them! There’s an entire royal lineage, they have to run out of floral epithets eventually.
Right, the eldest--Mia. A lovely young lady, exactly as blond and lissome as one might imagine considering she’s a faerie princess. Gives time to those in need, looks after her younger siblings, has supposedly never touched a drop of alcohol in her life. ...Really?
Never?
Bless her little blue-eyed heart.
Right, the next was Cullen, a proper eldest son if ever there was one. Cheekbones, shining armor, soft hair--and a nigh disturbing dedication to honor. I’d honor that, I can tell you.
Then there was Branson, offensively tall and built to fell trees. One might expect a third son to go out and seek his fortune, but Prince Branson was rather more content to remain in the castle village, wrestling the occasional druffalo, learning all he could from the Ministers of Trade and Agriculture, and doting incessantly upon his incredibly pregnant young wife.
The last, and youngest among the rosy-cheeked bunch, was Princess Rosalie, who at the time of our story was a teenager. One might hazard a guess. The King and Queen were awfully troubled, as their young honeysuckle had recently professed her fervent desire to become a swamp witch, like Dread Morrigan in the Forbidden Forest.
Because of course they called it the Forbidden Forest. On every map and sign in the kingdom of Honnleath, the name is plain as day. Unless, of course, some charming young person has decided to deface it again.
Never mind that there’s an entire kingdom beyond the forest’s edge. Never mind that no one among this bright-eyed aristocracy could tell you why the forest was Forbidden. All that mattered was that the great line of trees at the edge of the Whispering Fields began a line of impregnable and eternal Dark.
So you see, there had to be a story there, because no matter how good and prosperous these cheery faerie folk may be, someone will always be drawn to anything Forbidden.
And of course it all began with some winsome girl fluttering her eyelashes.
-
Princess Mia is a proud woman, tall and regal, with kind eyes and full, red lips. All the better to pout with, really.
“Oh please, Cullen,” She wheedles. “I know that this is no easy request, but I saw them in Rosie’s book, and I’ve not been able to think of a single thing else…”
“Like your groom?”
“He understands.”
“Then why isn’t he off undertaking some perilous quest to assemble your dream bridal bouquet?”
“Cullen, we’re still in paperwork up to our eyeballs to get him legs. If that’s not a statement of Love Beyond All Obstacles, I’ve no idea what is.”
Cullen sighs. “Mia, I’m not certain we should rely on anything in Rosie’s books. I think one or two of them might actually be possessed.”
“It’s a phase.” Mia’s response is disturbingly automatic, though not quite as deadpan as it would have been coming from mother or father. ...They can hope. “Please, Cullen. If they’re anything like the illustration…”
Cullen stands still for one impossible moment, shoulders high and proud, eyes closed in contemplation. He should remain strong. Really, they had no proof that there is such a flower as Love Beyond All Obstacles in the Forbidden Forest. It sounds a bit like horseshit.
The answer is no.
A strong, sensible no.
“...What does it look like?”
Mia shrieks like a sprite who’s just got the hang of flight and flings herself at him, thanking him in spirals of speech so enthusiastic it all blurs together. He pats her on the back gently.
When she finally draws away, it’s with the brilliant smile that everyone--including the Prince of the Mermaids himself--could never seem to resist. “It’s white, with a glittering gold dust upon the petals. The pistils and stamens are curved outward, and it is said to whisper words of comfort to the weary traveler.”
“Right. Whispering white flower in the middle of a pitch black forest. That’s something to go on, at least.”
“Take a lantern.” Mia says, reaching out to smooth his hair in a move she’s had perfected since she was six.
She’s going to get him eaten.
-
“I love my sister,” Cullen mutters, sliding over a ridiculously oversized tree root and adjusting his grip on the lantern once more. “I love my sister. I love my sister.”
He’s been at this for six hours at least, stumbling blindly through an eerie miasma of darkness in search of a bloody white flower. He’s fairly certain he’s been walking in circles. There have been wisps of light in the darkness here and there, but Cullen knows better than to follow them.
The cries of countless unfamiliar beasts echo in the distance, and he stumbles into something that drips cold liquid down the neck of his armor. He yelps and stumbles forward, tripping over yet another root and tumbling to the forest floor with a clatter.
He takes a deep breath, bracing his gauntleted hands against the loamy earth. “I love my sister.”
“How lovely for you.”
Cullen makes a rather undignified screeching noise, and scrambles back until he hits what has to be another damnable root.
Above him, several of the wisps congregate, illuminating a figure in their gentle light. A man, perhaps a bit younger than Cullen with a rather unusual moustache, smirks down at him. “Lost our way?”
The prince remains still, blinking up at the man perching on the branch as easily as he might upon a throne. “Er...sort of?”
The man shifts forward, all patronizing amusement as he tries to get a better look at the faerie prince. Something catches in Cullen’s throat when he realizes that the man isn’t partially obscured by shadow, as he’d previously thought.
He’s wearing it.
“How cute.” The man remarks, as if Cullen is a particularly stupid poodle performing tricks. “If I promise not to eat you, will you explain how one becomes ‘sort of’ lost?”
“Eat me?”
“I’d have to take the armor off first, of course.”
Cullen does not ‘eep.’ Princes do not ‘eep.’
“Oh, don’t make that face. I was joking. You’re far too muscular for me to eat. ...well.”
As cold as the liquid slicking his undershirt to his skin may be, he’s warm and flushed bright red in mere moments. “I was just looking for a damned flower.”
The strange man pauses for a moment, tapping a finger that seems to have been dipped in darkness to his lip. “We do have a few of those here. Was there a particular one you had in mind? For this sister of yours?”
“It’s...er...white flower… Love Despite--”
“Love Beyond All Obstacles?” The other man drawls, hopping from the branch to land mere feet away from Cullen. He absolutely does not inch backward.
The wisps gathered around them illuminate the clearing a bit better as the stranger regards him with an odd little smile.
“You’re familiar with it?”
“Mm,” One elegant finger flourishes at the ground, and Cullen follows the motion to find...a rather depressingly squished white and gold flower. “You landed on it.”
“Oh.”
“But that’s just as well.”
“How is that ‘just as well’?! I’ve been wandering these infernal woods for hours looking for the thing.”
“You did say you love your sister, did you not?”
“I wouldn’t be out here if I didn’t.”
“Do you know why they call it Love Beyond All Obstacles?”
“I haven’t the foggiest, actually.”
“It’s a demon flower. Resurrects dead loved ones in exchange for the souls of the living. Horrid nasty thing, but it does eat mosquitoes.”
Well, then.
“It what?”
“Eats mosquitoes?”
“The other thing.”
“Kills people.”
“That.”
“I’m not sure what else you’d like me to say.”
“You just...what...sit in the dark, waiting for people to come pick the soul-eating demon flower?”
“And mosquitoes.”
“Sir, I will fight you.”
The man rolls his eyes. “If you must know, I come out here to read upon occasion. And if I should warn a soul or two away from a floral demise, well, I suppose that’s not horrid.”
He guards the flower, Cullen thought. He comes out here and guards a bloody flower.
“I suppose my thanks are in order, then.”
There’s a strange dusting of gold along the man’s cheeks for a moment and...wait, is that…? “If you must.”
“I do love my sister, I promise you, and...Rosalie. I knew that book was possessed!”
“Oh, dear.”
“Mia wanted to put that thing in her bouquet!”
“I suppose it’s rather fortuitous you’ve gone and sat on it then, isn’t it?”
Cullen frowns, broken from his righteous indignation. “You startled me.”
“You want me to apologize now?” The man hisses. “Are all of you Brightlanders so obtuse?”
“The what-now?”
The man wiggles his fingers as if to indicate all of Cullen. “People from your side of the forest. In all that infernal Bright.”
“I’ve never heard that phrase before.”
“Of course you haven’t. You live there. No idea how.”
“We find it pleasant enough. It’s certainly devoid of soul-eating flower beasts.”
“A pity.” The man sneers. “Well, then I suppose you’ll have to return empty-handed.”
“...oh.”
“...What is that? That look. What are you doing with your face right now?”
Cullen blinks at him.
“Stop it. What’s wrong with your eyes?! Stop doing that!”
“...Disappointment?”
“If you promise to stop making that damnable face, I’ll show you where the Quiet Adoration and the Promiseblossoms grow. Would that please you?”
“The who and the what now?”
“Flowers that don’t bring back the dead.”
“Oh. What do they do?” Cullen asks even as the man turns on his heel and flounces off into the greater Dark.
His guide snorts. “Smell nice. Honestly. Bloody Brightlanders stumbling about at night.”
-
The forest is infinitely less terrifying with his guide lighting the way, occasionally complaining at his impractical outfit or the awkward clanking sounds it makes.
“It’s blind luck you haven’t attracted an edelbeast, honestly. Making all that damnable noise.”
Cullen is reminded, rather awkwardly, of Rosalie’s adolescent whining. The comparison is oddly endearing, even as he watches the Darkling gesticulate, setting off little sparks and embers as his fingertips rake and snap in the air.
“Thank you, by the way.”
The other man pauses. “What?”
“I didn’t actually say it before. So I thought I ought to. It’s kind of you to help me like this.”
For a moment, everything is quiet but for the sound of water rushing somewhere ahead, and the faint chirruping of some small creatures playing in the brush. Then…
“Dorian. My name is Dorian.” The Darkling turns his head to look back over his shoulder, and Cullen can see that faint dusting of gold along his cheeks again. “And you’re welcome.”
“Cullen.”
“You are most welcome, Cullen.”
Even in the cool dark of the Forbidden Forest, Cullen believes he is.
-
The flowers do not just smell nice. Cullen could tell you that before they made it the clearing. Beyond the consuming dark of night time in the Forbidden Forest, from between the draping boughs of swaying trees, he could see the warm glow.
Dorian parts the leaves before them, dispelling the wisps even as he’s wrapped in the light that radiates from the copper and gold blossoms blanketing the area.
“Well?” Dorian nods toward the expanse of them, and Cullen takes a step forward. The field is bordered on the far side by a small creek and another stand of willow trees. It’s like standing in a field of stars, the glittering dust rising in the air.
He walks almost reverently into the edge of the blooms and kneels to gently pluck a silvery specimen from the earth. He gets a face full of that same dust for his trouble, and begins to sneeze.
He coughs up a bit of the shining stuff and squints accusingly up at Dorian, who stands just a few paces away, trying to smother a laugh with tears in his eyes.
“Tell me this isn’t some terrible contagion.” He grits.
“Oh, no. No. That was just the one, I assure you.”
“Then this is?”
“Glitter.”
( Well, where did you think glitter came from? )
“That tells me nothing.”
“It’s harmless. You’ll sparkle for a bit. Honestly, with your pale skin and strong cheekbones, it can only add a bit of mystery.” Dorian smiles and closes the distance between them before bending at the waist. His fingers, coated in shadow as they may be, are gentle and warm as they swipe a bit of the offending glitter from his skin. “There, just as handsome as ever.”
“I…er…”
“I suppose this makes you a knight in sparkling armor, doesn’t it?”
“You’re horrendous.”
“Excuse you. I’ll have you know that I’m considered roguishly handsome, if not frighteningly beautiful.”
“Pffft.”
Dorian pinches his cheek and once more Cullen falls on his backside, laughing helplessly.
“There’s a trick to it, you insufferable man. Watch me.”
Cullen certainly isn’t inclined to object.
-
It doesn’t take them long to gather up a decadent bouquet of silvery Quiet Adoration and rich copper Promiseblossoms. Tucked in the crook of Dorian’s arm, the sight of them is absolutely striking, as if the shadows draped across his form are shielding the blooms in a separate galaxy.
Still, Dorian curls his lip in dissatisfaction. “You came here looking for Love Beyond All Obstacles.”
“I did.” Cullen nods, scratching at the back of his neck. Honestly, it’s a bit embarrassing that he caved so easily to his sister’s needling. “More fool me.”
“Not a fool.” Dorian frowns. “They were for your sister. Why in the world would she want such a blossom?”
“She’s to be married tomorrow.”
“Is she?” That wicked little smile is back, and Cullen feels an odd swooping sensation in his belly. “It would be a shame to send you back without a truly special centerpiece, don’t you think?”
“Please don’t put yourself out for us. These alone are like nothing I’ve ever seen. She’ll love them.”
The other man makes a dismissive motion with his free hand that quickly shifts into a series of languid sigils, marking the air in glowing whorls of fire. The marks begin to coalesce, the glow of them pulsing brightly in the even light of the field.
As he finishes, he holds his palm flat to accept the result: a great flower with smoky purple petals accented with glowing purple veins. In the center, curling out and under in mesmerizing spirals, the stamens and pistils seem to be formed from pulsing embers.
“This is…”
“An Edelbloom,” Dorian drawls, settling the flower neatly in the center of the otherworldly bouquet. “You might read about it in your young Rosalie’s book.”
If Cullen survives the attempt to get it from her, he certainly will.
-
Dorian accompanies him as far as he is able, and directs him to the forest’s edge with another bobbing wisp to guide his steps.
The ambient noise of the forest’s creatures are no longer an eerie threat as they drift by his ear. Free to smile and blush as a small child might, Cullen ducks his head to take in the scent of the glimmering flowers cradles in his arm.
He is glad he came.
Even as the first light of dawn melts like wax across the sky, he deposits the magnificent bouquet with his sister’s handmaidens. He draws away to strip off his armor and crawl into the soft furs and warm blankets covering his bed.
Even when Branson comes to pound at his door a mere three hours later, Cullen cannot bring himself to feel any semblance of exhaustion. As if he has been on some marvelous adventure.
When Mia makes her appearance in the grand hall, resplendent in white lace and silk, her bouquet illuminating her loving eyes and joyful smile, Rosalie draws in a shaking breath and tugs at his jacket.
“Cullen,” She hisses with an excitement he hasn’t heard from her in months. “Cullen, that’s an Edelbloom.”
“I know.” He grins. “I found it for her.”
“You found an Edelbloom?”
“Is that so strange?”
“Did you knock him out!?”
“Knock who out?”
“Maker, you’re an idiot. We’re all bloody in for it. I didn’t figure you’d go out stealing sacred flowers.”
“It’s sacred? But Dorian gave it to me.”
“Dorian.”
“From the forest.”
“King Dorian of the Edelwood.”
Cullen stares at her, and her thunderous expression darkens into that same sadistic amusement they’ve all come to expect from the world’s angriest teenage princess.
“You made cow eyes at the Edelking.”
“I did not make cow eyes at anyone.”
“Whatever.” She says, and turns to face forward. “Shut up. The ceremony’s starting.”
The Revered Mother smiles out upon the congregation, waiting for the excited rustling of wings and fabric to come to a lulling hush. Cullen feels rather like he’s been smacked in the gut with one of the golden candelabrum lining the aisle.
-
When he returns to his rooms that evening, there’s another Edelbloom on his pillow.