I pressed my bare palms against the damp soil surrounding the Great White Fern, letting my breath match the steady, luminous pulse of the pale frond. The magic inside me rose up like dark water, sliding down my arms and into the roots until the soil grew warm under my fingertips. I didn't just want the fern to grow; I needed it to bend its light into a conduit strong enough to bridge the gap between elven magic and real blood. The veins of the leaves turned a deep, translucent silver as my will forced them to tighten and coil around the mineral dust. A sharp crack echoed through the subterranean lab, like ice splitting on a frozen pond.
Levin watched from the edge of the stone trough, his hand reaching out instinctively as if to steady me, then dropping back to his side. The light from the fern flared, casting long, writhing shadows against the gothic arches of the cellar. I pulled my hands away slowly, leaving trails of silver dust hovering in the air where my skin had touched the stem. The plant stayed rigid now, its glow fixed into a cold, piercing ray that cut straight through the darkness. It was ready, and the realization tasted like iron in the back of my throat.
Footsteps rang out on the stone stairs behind us, heavy and deliberate in the echoing chamber. Hunter stepped out from the shadows near the iron door, his tall frame clad in his tailored black coat and silver brooches. He didn't look at Levin, keeping his gaze fixed entirely on the glowing fern between us. “You've done it,” Hunter said, his voice grating against the damp walls like gravel under a boot. “And you'll need every bit of that light sooner than you think, Majesty.”
I stood up, wiping the wet soil from my apron while my heart hammered against my ribs in a slow, heavy rhythm. “Speak plainly, Hunter. What has happened upstairs?”
“One of the elder's granddaughters has awakened an old gift,” Hunter said, crossing his arms over his chest. “She's been copying the empty endless bottles by the dozens and handing them out to anyone who asks. The commoners are filling them with drops of animal blood from the markets, and the phantom ache of the hunger is entirely gone across the city.”
“Copied glass?” I asked, staring at him across the stone table. “The magic in those bottles isn't stable enough for crude replication. It should have shattered in their hands.”
“It didn't shatter,” Hunter muttered, his lips tightening into a hard line. “Because the whole kingdom now believes you engineered the endless blood supply for everyone, and they are gathered outside the iron gates right now, demanding to see their Queen make it official.”
I let out a low breath, looking down at the glowing frond that still hummed with trapped magic. The crowd out there wouldn't be satisfied with a whisper or a sealed decree; they wanted the Queen who had kept them fed to step into the light. I turned to Levin, who was already packing his elvin tools into a leather pouch with quiet efficiency. “Stay down here where it's safe,” I said, my voice dropping into the tone I used for commands that could not be broken. “The northern faction is still restless, and an elf in the middle of a cheering vampire mob is a target.”
“I'll manage,” Levin replied, not looking up from the latch of his bag. “Go show them your crown.”
The heavy oak doors of the subterranean hall swung outward, letting in a wall of noise that smelled of damp wool, burning tallow, and eager anticipation. Hundreds of vampires filled the lower courtyard, their faces pale and upturned in the torchlight, holding up glass bottles that caught the amber glow. When I stepped onto the upper landing, the roar of voices cut off instantly, replaced by a dense, breathless silence. I kept my spine straight, my dark velvet gown sweeping the stone steps as I walked down to meet them. They weren't snarling or whispering of coups tonight; they held up their copied flasks like holy relics, their eyes bright with the first real peace they had known in centuries.
“You gave us what the elders couldn't,” a voice called out from the front of the crowd, belonging to a young vampire with stained cuffs and trembling hands. “Is it true? Can the fern feed us all without the hunt?”