The Rosekeeper of Astrendale

The kingdom of Astrendale lived beneath the shadow of ancient mountains where winter lingered like a stubborn guest and summers bloomed only for a brief whisper of time. Its castles were built of pale stone that gleamed in sunlight like frost trapped in crystal. Travelers spoke of Astrendale with reverence for it was said that the kingdom survived on the devotion of its guardians and on the magic of its legendary roses which bloomed only in the royal garden and nowhere else in the world.

Aria Thornwell had cared for those roses since she was old enough to walk. She was the daughter of the royal gardener and after his passing she became the Rosekeeper. Her life was shaped by the rhythms of tending petals and pruning stems and whispering ancient lullabies taught by her mother. The roses of Astrendale were not ordinary blossoms. Their colors shifted with the emotions of those who touched them and their scent sharpened in the presence of lies. They were gifts from the first queen a queen said to have been born of both magic and mortal blood.

Aria knew the roses better than she knew herself. She could sense when one was restless or hungry or longing for sunlight. She spent her mornings mending broken vines and her evenings watching moonlight ripple across the petals like silver water. The palace staff treated her with polite distance. They believed the magic of the roses had seeped into her blood and made her different. Perhaps they were right.

Prince Daeron heir to Astrendale had returned from a diplomatic journey across the northern realms only a week earlier. Rumors spread through the kingdom of his transformation. He was no longer the bright eyed curious boy people remembered. He carried himself with a quiet weight a sternness in his gaze that had not existed before. Some said he had seen terrible things beyond the mountains. Others whispered that he had lost someone dear. Daeron offered no explanations.

The first time Aria saw him again he stood in the rose garden at dawn his gloved hand hovering inches above the crimson blossoms. She paused holding a wooden basket of pruning shears and fresh soil. The prince turned slightly and their eyes met. His were a deep shade of storm cast blue.

You have returned my lord she said with a respectful nod.

Daeron studied the roses as if searching for an answer hidden within their petals. I have missed this place more than I expected he admitted. His voice was lower than she remembered colder at the edges. May I walk here for a while

Aria hesitated. The roses sensed emotions with startling clarity. If Daeron carried grief or anger or fear the blossoms would respond. Yet she saw something in his face a quiet plea or perhaps exhaustion.

Of course my lord she answered. The garden belongs to Astrendale not to me.

He gave a small nod of gratitude. Aria turned to continue her morning duties but then Daeron spoke again.

These roses. They change colors yes

She glanced back. Yes my lord. They reflect emotion and intention. They can even reveal truth though they do not speak in words.

What color are they now

Aria stepped closer and observed the nearest rose. The petals shimmered between a soft blue and a muted violet. Curiosity she said. And sorrow.

Daeron stiffened. I see.

For a moment Aria regretted her honesty but truth was the nature of the roses and of her.

The next few days Daeron returned to the garden more often than she expected. Sometimes he strolled silently beneath the arches of flowering vines. Other times he sat beside the rosebeds lost in thought. Aria grew accustomed to seeing him even though they spoke little. But each time the roses around him deepened into shades of melancholy.

On the fifth morning he approached her with a peculiar request. Aria. May I ask something of you

She blinked surprised that he addressed her by name. Yes of course my lord.

Walk with me.

They wandered through the garden as sunlight crept across the dew soaked petals. Daeron kept his hands clasped behind his back as though resisting the urge to touch the roses.

I need to know he said slowly whether the roses can reveal hidden intentions. Dangerous ones.

Aria frowned. They can sense malice though not always with clarity. Why do you ask

Daeron inhaled sharply. There is treachery within the court. I feel it yet I cannot prove it. The roses have always protected our bloodline. I want their help but I do not know how to ask.

Aria hesitated. The roses respond to emotion not commands. To reveal treachery we must bring the accused before them. But I must warn you my lord. They reveal everything. Not only lies but truths the heart wishes to hide.

Daeron looked away. Then perhaps that is exactly what we need.

That afternoon Aria prepared the central rosebed known as the First Bloom where the oldest rose in the kingdom grew. Its petals gleamed a thousand shades of red like reflections of sunrise. The queen used to call it the Heart Rose. Aria had always felt its presence like a steady pulse in the air.

Daeron arrived with Lord Varyn a stern noble with sharp eyes and a colder smile. The man bowed to the prince though Aria sensed the falseness in the motion.

My lord Varyn said. I am honored to stand before the sacred bloom though I fail to see the need.

Daeron did not respond. He stepped aside allowing Aria to guide the moment.

Please place your hand near the petals she instructed.

Varyn arched a brow but complied. For a heartbeat nothing happened. Then the petals of the Heart Rose darkened into a deep grayish green the color of deceit. The scent sharpened like iron in the air.

Daeron tensed. What does that mean

Aria answered quietly. He harbors betrayal.

Varyn snarled. Lies. Floral witchcraft. I will not be judged by roots and petals.

But the rose darkened further its edges curling as though recoiling from poison.

Guards Daeron commanded. Seize him.

Varyn attempted to flee but the guards restrained him. As they dragged him from the garden he spat curses claiming innocence. Yet the Heart Rose continued to pulse with the color of corruption.

When the men vanished Daeron exhaled slowly. So it was true.

Aria placed a gentle hand on the rose. It will recover my lord. But betrayal leaves wounds even for those who cannot speak.

Daeron turned his gaze toward her. Thank you Aria. You have done more for Astrendale today than any sword or shield.

Aria bowed her head though warmth stirred uncomfortably in her chest. I only did what the roses asked of me.

The days that followed brought new unrest. Strange rumors spread like wildfire through the kingdom. Some said the roses were dangerous. Others whispered that Aria had enchanted the prince. Soldiers grew tense. Nobles murmured. Someone even left dead vines at the entrance of the garden a silent warning.

Daeron saw the strain in her posture one evening as she sat near the Heart Rose weaving fallen petals into a small wreath.

Are you afraid he asked quietly.

Aria did not lie. Yes. The roses have protected this land for centuries but now it seems people fear them.

Daeron knelt beside her. They do not fear the roses Aria. They fear those who use truth to expose the darkness they hide.

She looked up and found his gaze warmer than before gentler even. My lord. Why do you care so much about what happens to me

He hesitated then spoke with a softness that startled her. Because when I look at you Aria the roses are not the only ones who see truth.

Her breath caught. She turned away flustered. My lord. The kingdom expects you to marry a noblewoman. Someone of standing. Someone worthy.

Daeron frowned. Worthy is not measured by title.

But she shook her head. It is in Astrendale.

Their conversation ended abruptly when a loud explosion echoed from the castle walls. Soldiers stormed through the courtyard. Daeron rushed toward them with Aria close behind.

A figure cloaked in black stood amid the smoke holding a small vial filled with shimmering liquid. The stranger threw it into the garden and the earth erupted with dark fumes that spread across the roses. The petals shriveled. The vines withered. The roses groaned like living things in agony.

Aria screamed and ran forward. No.

Daeron grabbed her arm. Wait.

But she tore free ignoring the burning in her lungs as she reached the Heart Rose. The dark fumes swirled around it choking its color. She pressed both hands to its petals ignoring the pain that seared her palms.

Please breathe she whispered. Please live. Please.

A faint glow pulsed within the rose but its color flickered erratically.

The cloaked figure fled. Daeron chased him sword drawn but the intruder vanished into the shadows of the courtyard leaving only the echo of footsteps and the scent of corruption.

By the time Daeron returned Aria had collapsed beside the Heart Rose trembling. Her hands were blistered. Her breath was shallow.

Aria he cried kneeling beside her. What have you done

I could not let it die she whispered.

Daeron lifted her into his arms and carried her inside the castle refusing to let anyone else touch her. The royal healer tended to her burns but warned Daeron that the poison in the garden could spread to the entire kingdom if not stopped.

Aria awoke later that night in a dim chamber lit by candlelight. Daeron sat beside her his head in his hands. When he noticed she was awake relief washed across his face.

Aria. Thank the heavens.

She tried to sit up but winced. The roses. Are they still alive

Barely. The poison is ancient. It is something beyond our court. Something someone wants us unprepared for.

Aria closed her eyes. They knew the roses were our protection.

Daeron moved closer. Aria listen to me. The roses respond to truth. They respond to emotion. Perhaps the antidote lies in the power that created them. You are the Rosekeeper. If anyone can revive them it is you.

But Aria shook her head. The magic of the roses was born from love. Pure love of the first queen. I have only cared for them. I do not carry such magic.

Daeron reached out gently cupping her face. You do not see it. But I do. You love them fiercely. And that love is magic enough.

Aria felt tears blur her vision. She tried to speak but Daeron leaned closer his forehead brushing hers just slightly.

I cannot lose you he whispered.

Her heart stuttered. You speak as though I matter to you beyond servant or subject.

You matter more than you know.

But before she could respond a guard burst into the chamber. My lord the corruption spreads. The garden is dying.

Daeron rose at once. Aria struggled to her feet ignoring the pain. I must go to them she insisted.

Daeron hesitated but did not argue. He helped her walk to the garden where vines lay wilted like fallen soldiers. The Heart Rose flickered weakly as though clinging to its final breath.

Aria stepped forward. She whispered ancient words passed through generations words she had never understood but spoken with faith. As she recited them her voice trembled. She pressed her wounded hands to the dying petals and closed her eyes.

Daeron watched in breathless silence.

A faint wind stirred the air then a glow rippled across the Heart Rose. It spread slowly through the vines like light chasing back darkness. The garden shuddered then bloomed once more brilliant with color. The poison evaporated. The air cleared. The roses rose tall as though reborn.

Aria collapsed again but this time Daeron caught her before she fell.

The roses saved me she whispered barely conscious. Or perhaps I saved them. Or perhaps we saved each other.

Daeron held her close. Whatever the truth Aria Thornwell you will never stand alone again.

She blinked weakly. My lord I am only the Rosekeeper.

Daeron shook his head. No Aria. You are the heart of Astrendale. And I will not let anyone harm you. Not now. Not ever.

He lifted her gently carrying her back into the castle while the roses swayed as though blessing their union. The people soon learned what Aria had done. Fear turned to reverence and whispers of doubt transformed into songs of devotion.

Weeks later when the kingdom recovered Daeron made a declaration in the grand hall. I choose Aria Thornwell as my future queen. She saved our kingdom not with sword or army but with love that no poison could destroy. Titles mean nothing without a heart worthy of the crown.

Gasps filled the hall but none dared to protest for even the roses outside glowed with radiant approval.

That night Daeron brought Aria to the Heart Rose. Moonlight fell across the garden turning every petal silver. He took her hands healed now and warm in his.

Aria. Will you rule beside me From this day until our last

She looked at the garden she had tended her whole life and at the man whose heart the roses had revealed to her. Yes she whispered. Not for the crown. But for you and for Astrendale.

Daeron smiled and kissed her gently a kiss that tasted of hope and renewal. The roses shimmered as though celebrating.

Thus began a new age for Astrendale one blessed not only by magic and truth but by the love of a Rosekeeper and a prince whose hearts bloomed together like eternal petals in the garden that guarded their destiny.