The Gift She Cannot Command

It is Peridotia's national flower, beloved by all.

An old tale tells of a woodcutter who found a radiant white blossom near the Fountain of Life. He took it home, but in sunlight it withered. Grieving, he buried its bulb. Years later, under a full moon, the bulb bloomed again—a miracle that gave the flower its name and its sacred reputation.

True to legend, the Moonlit Blossom requires five years of patient care before blooming on a spring night when the moon is strongest. In Peridotia, where love for plants runs deep, such patience comes naturally.

The festival began with common folk celebrating the flower's blooming—drinking, singing, dancing beneath the blossoms. Over time it grew, eventually gaining royal support, and now occurs once every five years as a grand celebration.

The festival bursts with life: stalls overflow with flowers and food, music fills the air, and entertainments from neighboring realms draw crowds until nightfall.

But the true heart of the festival comes after dark. Citizens bring flowers they've tended for five years, placing them together. There, the royal family—blessed with green magic—lends their power to coax the blossoms open where moonlight alone may not suffice. It is a shared moment that bridges royals and people.

And for that reason, the burden on the chosen royal is immense. In that moment, before the entire kingdom, the people will see whether they truly carry the blessing of the forest.

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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 doesn’t mean I’m ready for the grave yet.”

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

“Troublemakers, a 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. It was a secret that could not 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 yellow marguerite. “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 flower 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 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 her 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.