The Gift She Cannot Command

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 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 leaving the castle was complicated.

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

Training. Studying. Patrolling. Another training.

Serving the crown was like laying the stones of a fortress—slow, deliberate, and unglamorous. True defense was built day by day, not won by a single swordstroke.

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 Edric,” Nina said, walking a respectful step behind the elderly knight.

“I’m more than capable,” Sir Edric replied, tapping his cane sharply against the cobblestones. “A few grey 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,” Edric 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 Edric, 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 seventy-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. Peridotia’s capital had never been a city of cold stone and smog. Nature was a part of it, breathing with it. Flowering 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—vibrant, alive. Bright stalls spilled onto the streets. Bells above shop doors jingled with every customer’s arrival. The scent of fresh bread mingled with the rich smell of warming soil. Hyacinth, violet, and tiny white star-blooms peeked shyly from cracked stone planters and garden beds.

It felt as though the forest itself, ancient and wise, still watched over the streets and the people who lived there.

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

“Oh, Your Highness! How are you?” “Just like her parents—always among the people!”

Charlotte paused, standing tall in the middle of the cobblestone road, sunlight weaving golden threads through her hair. Children darted between the adults' legs, shrieking and laughing. A shopkeeper paused mid-sweep to tip his hat. A baker leaned out her window, flour dusting her cheeks, waving happily.

She 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," she said, dipping her head. "Thank you, Aunt Marge."

Aunt Marge, round and rosy-cheeked beneath her knitted shawl, beamed back.

“You’re a blessing, dear.”

Charlotte smiled back, letting her gaze sweep slowly across the square. Every face here—so familiar, so steadfast.

She didn’t need to come herself. She had officials and messengers for that. 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.

And the people, seeing her—this girl who stood smiling without her parents— they loved her. Not as a crown, not as a symbol. But as Charlotte.

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

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

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

The little girl held out a single daisy, its petals trembling with excitement in the breeze. When she smiled, Charlotte noticed the gap where a baby tooth had recently fallen out—adorable and utterly heart-melting.

Charlotte stepped forward, her skirts brushing gently across the stones. “Hello, Krista. My, that’s a beautiful flower.”

“It’s my birthday!” Krista declared proudly, beaming. “Can you show me magic? Please?”

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

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

The crowd was gathering now—hopeful, eager faces forming a loose circle around her.

Neighbors. Not subjects.

“Just a little?” the merchant asked, grinning. “She’s been wishing for it for days.”

Charlotte hesitated, her heart beating faster.

Her magic was no longer what it had been, the secret never allowing it to be known.

Still, she couldn’t refuse a birthday wish.

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

She held out her hand, feeling for the magic within her, listening. It flickered beneath her skin, like the first tremor of spring under 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.

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. But not how she had intended.

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.

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 brightly. “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. Something simple. Something pure. It should be 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, hiding its true nature even from her.

"Your magic is amazing, Princess," Nina said.

Edric 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 couldn’t even control her own gift ever be fit to rule?

She didn’t say it aloud. 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.