The Gift She Cannot Command

A flower so rare it graces the earth only once every five years. It is the national flower of Peridotia, cherished by all who dwell within the kingdom.

There is an old tale about this blossom. Long ago, a humble woodcutter came upon a Fountain of Life, where he found a white flower radiant with inner light around the edge. Enchanted, he carried a single bloom home with him. But once removed from the spring and kissed by the sun’s harsh light, the flower withered. Grieving, the woodcutter buried its bulb in the earth.

Years passed. Then, on the night of a full moon, the bulb stirred. Bathed in silver light, it shone faintly before bursting forth in bloom once more. From that miracle, the people named it the “Moonlit Blossom,” believing it to be a sacred gift blessed by this land and imbued with the power of the moon.

As the tale suggests, the flower requires five long years of patient care before it will finally bloom on a spring night, when the moon’s power is at its strongest. In Peridotia, where love for plants runs deep, such patience is no burden. The people are content to nurture even the barest sprout or stubborn root, year after year, until the day of its flowering arrives.

It was not kings or queens who first gathered to celebrate the Moonlit Blossom’s blooming; it was the common folk. They circled the flowers, drinking, laughing, singing, and dancing as the blossoms unfurled their radiant petals. What began as a small gathering grew larger with each passing bloom. Eventually, the crown itself stepped forward to support the festival, and what was once a gathering of dozens became a great celebration held once every five years.

The festival bursts with life. Stalls overflow with flowers and herbs, food and drink are offered, and music and dance fill the air. In earlier days, there were duels and bullfights; now, spectacles such as popular sports from neighboring realms entertain the crowds until nightfall.

For the true heart of the festival—the Moonlit Blossom’s great blooming—comes only after dark. And it is then that the royal family plays its part.

Each citizen brings the flowers they have tended for five years, placing them together at the heart of the festival. There, the royals—gifted with the green power of the bloodline—lend their magic to the flowers, coaxing them to open in full glory. Where moonlight alone may not suffice, the royals provide strength, completing the miracle. It is an act that bridges the royals and their people, a shared moment of wonder.

And for that reason, the burden upon the royal chosen to perform the rite is immense.

For in that moment, before the eyes of the kingdom, the people will see for themselves whether their royal truly carries the blessing of the forest.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Charlotte’s days were busy—of course they were—but not always quite this busy.

This particular time of year, when winter’s frost began to melt into spring’s breath, always carried its own kind of rush. The season of preparation. Of renewal.

Fields needed tending, roads mending, budgets re-evaluated. Decisions were made in meetings that stretched long into the night.

Spring brought change, and for a kingdom like Peridotia—where the land and its people moved as one heartbeat—it meant work. A great deal of it.

Even so, when duties were lighter, Charlotte would gather her attendants and slip away from the castle, just for a little while. To breathe. To live beyond stone walls and endless meetings.

But the princess’s busy life was mirrored in the knights sworn to protect both her and her kingdom. 

Training. Studying. Patrolling. More training.

And not every knight was suited for escort duty. Fighting for a realm required one kind of skill. Shielding a single life—with no margin for error—required another.

Today, they had managed to find someone willing and able.

“Thank you for coming with us today, Sir Gilbert,” Nina said, walking a respectful step behind the elderly knight.

“I’m more than capable,” Sir Gilbert replied, tapping his cane sharply against the cobblestones. “A few gray hairs don’t mean I’m ready for the grave yet.”

Charlotte laughed under her breath. “You still move faster than some of the younger knights.”

“Troublemakers, the lot of them,” Gilbert huffed. “They still need seasoning. Ever since the queen vanished, we’ve had too few swords to spare.”

He said no more. He didn’t have to.

Peridotia had not only lost its monarchs; it had lost many of its strongest protectors. The royal guard, once shining and whole, had been scattered like leaves in a storm, leaving behind only fragments to rebuild.

And so Sir Gilbert, long past the fire of youth, now walked at Charlotte’s side. Not with a sword in hand, but with a cane and a lion’s heart.

Still, Charlotte refused to hide behind walls even if it meant stepping into the world with a sixty-two-year-old knight for her shield.

They stepped into the square, and the world unfolded around them like a flower turning toward the sun. Vines crept up bakery walls. Herbs grew in the nooks between houses, free for any child to pluck. Bees floated lazily past open windows, where linen curtains fluttered in the breeze.

The marketplace was a heartbeat of its own. Bright stalls spilled onto the streets. Bells above shop doors jingled with the customer’s arrival. The scent of fresh bread mingled with the rich smell of warming soil. Hyacinths, violets, and tiny white star-blooms peeked shyly from cracked stone planters and garden beds.

The forest itself, ancient and wise, still watched over the streets and the people who lived there.

“Princess Charlotte!” a young goatherd boy shouted, waving his arm high. The square brightened all at once with recognition and joy.

“Oh, Your Highness! How are you?”

“At last, spring has come!”

A shopkeeper paused mid-sweep to tip his hat. A baker leaned out her window, flour dusting her cheeks, waving happily. Children darted between the adults’ legs, shrieking and laughing. 

Charlotte smiled and waved back, her heart lifting as if on wings.

“Hello, everyone!” she called. “Is life treating you kindly? Anything troubling you?”

A cheerful chorus answered.

“We’re well, Princess!”

“The orchards are thriving!”

From among the voices, an old flower-seller raised a hand. “Oh, that’s right—the bridge on the outskirts of town is starting to wear down.”

“I’ll have someone inspect it immediately,” Charlotte said, dipping her head. “Thank you, Aunt Marge.”

“You’re a blessing, dear.” Aunt Marge, round and rosy-cheeked beneath her knitted shawl, beamed back.

Every face here—so familiar, so steadfast.

The princess didn’t need to come herself. But a ruler who did not know her people’s faces could never truly protect them, fostering a sense of unity and shared purpose. Her mother had taught her that.

“Princess Charlotte!” a joyful voice called out again.

She turned to see a familiar vegetable merchant waving, his young daughter perched proudly on his shoulders.

“Krista wanted to see you!” he said, shifting her from his shoulder into his arms.

When that little girl smiled, Charlotte noticed the gap where a baby tooth had recently fallen out—adorable and heart-melting.

“Hello, Krista. Good day to you,” Charlotte said.

“Hi, Princess! It’s my birthday today!” Krista announced proudly, her eyes shining. “Can you show me magic? Please?”

Charlotte drew in a quiet breath—and around her, the townsfolk widened their eyes. 

“Oh, magic, is it?” someone teased from the crowd.

“It’s been too long since we’ve seen your magic, Princess!” another chimed in eagerly.

The people were gathering, their hopeful, expectant faces forming a loose circle around her.

Charlotte hesitated, her heart beginning to race. Her magic was not what it once had been. The truth was a secret that could never be revealed to so many.

A few townsfolk stepped forward with awkward smiles.

“Now, now . . . the Princess’s magic is something special. It isn’t right to demand it on a whim.”

“Aye, that’s true. Magic’s not some parlor trick. It’s a sacred gift from the forest, from the Mother Tree herself.”

Aunt Marge offered the little girl a daisy. “Here, child. Take this flower from an old woman. It will have to do.”

“Oh, it’s so pretty! Thank you!” Krista exclaimed, clutching the daisy with delight. Yet she shook her head stubbornly. “But—but! Mama told me that once, on her birthday long ago, the queen who disappeared made all the flowers bloom, just because she wished for it!”

A hush fell. Several people drew in a sharp breath. Charlotte could only pray that the smile she wore had not cracked upon her face.

“Just a little?” a merchant urged, grinning. “She’s been wishing for it all week.”

The reactions in the crowd were varied: some watched her with wide, expectant eyes; others leaned in with curiosity; and still others regarded her with unease, their anxious gazes betraying what they feared to ask.

“Your Highness . . .” Nina murmured, searching Charlotte’s expression.

“All right,” Charlotte said at last, her voice soft as new grass. “I’ll try.”

She inhaled deeply and stepped forward. The crowd instinctively gave way, parting the circle to make space for her.

Charlotte lifted her hand, reaching for the current of magic within her, listening for its pulse. It flickered softly beneath her skin—like the first signs of spring emerging from the frozen earth.

The townsfolk leaned forward, breathless.

Charlotte closed her eyes and pictured the daisy blooming wider—petals fresh and vivid with spring’s promise.

But for a long moment, nothing happened. A murmur of confusion rippled through the air.

Her stomach clenched. No—not now, please—

Suddenly, the magic answered. Instead of flowers blooming for Krista, the magic leapt sideways, like a misfired arrow, straight into the market stalls.

With a loud pop, a spring cabbage sitting at a nearby stall began to swell. Bigger. Rounder. Growing until it nearly toppled the entire cart over.

Charlotte gasped, covering her mouth.

The silence fell—then laughter burst across the square like fireworks.

“Best birthday gift ever!” Krista shrieked with delight, staring up at the enormous cabbage. “Thank you so much, Princess!”

“I always said your magic had good taste!” the merchant said, laughing with his daughter. “That’s one royal cabbage!”

“Princess Charlotte, you’ll feed half the town with that thing!” another voice called.

Charlotte flushed to the tips of her ears—but found herself laughing too, her heart uncurling with relief. “I’ll pay for it,” she said. “Just . . . promise me you’ll make something delicious with it, all right?”

“We’ll make cabbage soup and share it with everyone!” they promised, beaming.

Charlotte offered thanks and laughed among people, but deep inside, unease stirred. She had wanted to summon flowers. It should have been easy for her.

Once, when she had been happy and fearless, her power had bloomed easily. Now, it twisted beneath her fear, wild and untamed.

This truth remained hidden from most. Those who knew of her magical hiccups—whether out of care for Charlotte, the kingdom, or both—kept her secret locked behind sealed lips.

Yet they all understood one thing: her control over her magic had faltered ever since her parents had vanished.

“Your magic is amazing, Princess,” Nina said, her voice warm with relief.

Gilbert nodded. “With magic as wondrous as yours, Peridotia is surely in good hands.”

Charlotte didn’t know how to reply, so she offered them a weary smile.

The longer she hid that truth—from the palace, from the town, from herself—the heavier her heart grew.

Could someone who can’t even tame her own gift ever be worthy to rule?

And . . . what of the festival’s ritual? The mere thought tightened her chest, as if her heart were being wrung.

Five years ago . . . Charlotte could still see the breathtaking magic her mother had woven before departing on her journey. With a sweep of her arm, flowers had burst into bloom—not only Moonlit Blossoms but every flower around them, erupting in vibrant splendor. The crowd had gasped, entranced by the ethereal swirl of petals dancing in the air. And yet, her mother had turned to little Charlotte, flashing a mischievous smile, like a girl who’d pulled off a perfect prank.

Her fingers brushed against her own hand.

What if my unstable magic ruins the festival after five long years . . . ?

She didn’t voice the fear. She couldn’t.

The town’s bright energy felt like sunlight against her back—warm, comforting, and completely unaware of the storm in her chest.