Rena sat in the corner of the cottage, fiddling with a strand of her silver-white hair as Aunt Sorren stirred the embers in the fireplace. Early afternoon light streamed through the windows, tracing bright rectangles on the worn wooden floor. Outside, Whisperwood lay peaceful as ever—birds chirping, branches gently swaying. Yet inside, the air felt thick with secrets.
Only an hour had passed since the wounded messenger, Gareth, had awakened. Now he slept again on the cot, his breathing calm, his fever subsiding. Aunt Sorren, however, looked anything but calm. She set aside the iron poker and turned to Rena with a grim expression.
"Let's walk," Sorren murmured, glancing once at Gareth to be sure he was still unconscious. "I think we could both use some fresh air. And you deserve… answers."
Rena nodded, the knot in her stomach tightening. She rose, following her aunt outside. The midday sun felt warm on her shoulders, and the faint smell of rosemary and thyme drifted from the herb garden beside the cottage. Normally, the fragrance soothed her, but now, her heart pounded so loudly she could barely notice it.
Aunt Sorren led Rena around the side of the cottage, where a rough-hewn bench sat beneath a trellis of climbing ivy. Rena had spent countless afternoons here, drying herbs or sipping tea. Today, the tranquil spot felt suddenly surreal.
Sorren sank onto the bench and patted the space beside her. Rena lowered herself onto the seat, bracing for whatever revelation might come.
"You've always known I found you in Whisperwood," Sorren began, her voice hushed. "But I never told you the whole story of that night—how it was a blood moon, how the wind howled like a wounded creature. I was out searching for special mushrooms when I heard a baby crying."
Rena's throat tightened. She'd heard scraps of this before, though never in such a grave tone. "You told me someone must have abandoned me there. Maybe they feared my healing powers."
A pained look crossed Sorren's face. "At the time, I didn't understand your power. You were just an infant, and I was no midwife or noble. I only knew you were cold, alone, and clutching a small pouch. Inside that pouch was… this."
She pulled a leather cord from her apron pocket. At the end dangled a tarnished pendant in the shape of a lily intertwined with a crescent moon—the same emblem Gareth wore on his cloak. Rena inhaled sharply.
"I've kept it hidden all these years," Sorren continued. "I feared if people found out, they might try to take you away—or worse. Stories circulated of a kidnapped princess, yes, but also of zealots who wanted to exploit magic they didn't understand. I convinced myself I was protecting you."
Rena's gaze shifted from the pendant to her aunt's anguished eyes. "So you… suspected I was connected to the royal family all along?"
Sorren nodded. "Suspected, yes. I had no proof, only rumors. But with that crest… it was enough to worry me. Over time, when your healing abilities became evident, I realized you might be that missing child they whispered about. I didn't dare speak of it. Whisperwood has its share of bandits and informants—loose talk can spread like wildfire."
Hot tears pricked the corners of Rena's eyes. Part of her felt betrayed—how could Sorren keep this from her for so long? Another part felt overwhelmed by the magnitude of the truth. She reached for the pendant, turning it gently in her hands. The engraved lily and moon caught the sunlight, reflecting a faint gleam. Could this really be the proof?
"And now Gareth's come," Rena murmured. "He claims I'm the one the kingdom needs. Says Silverstrand is on the brink of crisis."
Sorren exhaled slowly. "I never wanted you to face the ugliness of court politics or the dangers of power-hungry nobles. But if Gareth is correct, if Lord Severin truly threatens the throne… perhaps only you can stop him. Or at the very least, you can give King Darius and Queen Maribel a spark of hope."
Rena cradled the pendant in her palm. "I… I don't feel like a princess. I don't know how to be one. The only life I've ever had is here, with you, among herbs and forest paths. I'm not sure I even want to leave Whisperwood."
Sorren's expression softened, and she gently placed her hand over Rena's. "I understand. But you do have a responsibility now—your healing gift, your connection to Silverstrand. Think of all the people who could benefit if you truly are the princess. And if you're not… well, letting the truth come to light is still better than living a lie."
Rena nodded, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. She remembered every wounded animal, every sick villager she'd helped. If her gift could extend beyond the forest, if it could save more people, then maybe she had a duty to try. But the idea of royal halls and political schemes terrified her. For years, she'd hidden her powers precisely because she feared becoming a pawn or a target.
Aunt Sorren wrapped an arm around Rena's shoulders. "Whatever you decide, know this: I love you. You are my child, princess or not. If you go, I'll be here waiting, always."
They sat in silence for a while, letting the magnitude of the moment settle. Eventually, Sorren stood and gazed out at the forest treeline. "We should check on Gareth. He might be awake by now. You can decide what to do once you speak with him again."
Rena slipped the pendant around her neck, feeling its weight like a quiet promise. "Yes," she said, voice steadier now. "Let's see what he says."
Back inside the cottage, they found Gareth awake, propped against a small cushion. He rubbed his eyes and blinked in the dim interior. Though still pale, he looked stronger than before. The feverfew and Rena's healing must have done their work.
His gaze flicked to the pendant around Rena's neck, and a faint light of recognition passed over his features. "So… you know," he murmured.
Rena stood by the cot, arms folded. "Aunt Sorren told me what she could. She suspects I might be the lost princess, and you seem certain of it."
Gareth nodded. "I am. If there was any doubt, that pendant—and your healing ability—erases it. But there's no time to discuss lineage in full. The kingdom is in turmoil, and Lord Severin's influence grows daily. King Darius and Queen Maribel have been searching for any lead on their daughter for years. If they confirm you're truly their lost child, it could galvanize their allies."
Aunt Sorren retrieved a small bowl of broth from the fireplace and handed it to Gareth, who sipped gingerly. Then she looked to Rena. "He's right in one sense: time may be short. The longer you remain hidden, the more power Severin gains."
Rena's eyes flicked from Gareth to Sorren, and then to the worn floorboards. Part of her wanted to recoil—she'd only just learned about her possible heritage, and already people were urging her to claim it. Yet she felt an insistent stirring in her chest, like an unspoken call to action.
She took a steadying breath. "What exactly is happening at the castle?"
Setting the empty bowl aside, Gareth's expression darkened. "King Darius's health has been unstable, and Queen Maribel is carrying the weight of governance alone. Lord Severin, a high-ranking steward, has rallied nobles to question the monarchy's legitimacy—especially since the heir is missing. Rumors spread that Severin may attempt a coup if the royal family loses further support."
"A coup?" Sorren repeated, brow furrowing.
Gareth nodded. "He's cunning. He's imposed taxes, manipulated trade routes, and quietly built a network of knights loyal to him instead of the crown. The peasants grow restless under the extra taxes, and some blame the king for letting Severin's policies run unchecked. If the princess reappears—validated by some ancient royal rites—it could shift public favor back to the throne."
Rena pressed a hand to her temple. The conversation made her head spin. She'd spent her life learning the healing properties of plants, not navigating political alliances. Still, she couldn't deny the pang of empathy she felt. People were suffering, and if her reemergence—her identity—could ease that suffering, was it not her responsibility to try?
Slowly, she looked up, meeting Gareth's gaze. "Suppose I agree to go with you. What then? I just walk into the castle and announce, 'Here I am, your long-lost princess'?"
A ghost of a smile flickered across Gareth's lips. "Not exactly. You'd need to prove yourself—there are old traditions to verify royal blood. But once the king and queen confirm you're their daughter, they'll have the authority to present you to the nobles and the people. That could undermine Severin's arguments about the monarchy's weakness."
"And if it doesn't?" Rena pressed, heart pounding. "What if I pass these 'old traditions' but it's still not enough to stop Severin?"
Gareth set the bowl aside, wincing as he shifted his injured shoulder. "Then war looms. But with a rightful heir in place, Silverstrand would stand a far better chance of uniting against him." He took a breath, his voice softening. "I won't lie: it's dangerous. Once Severin learns of your return, he may act quickly—and violently—to secure his power."
Sorren clasped her hands. "So if she goes, she risks putting a target on her back. And if she stays… the kingdom might fall to Severin, with who knows what cost in lives."
An uneasy hush settled over them. Rena felt the pendant against her collarbone, a tangible reminder of the destiny she never asked for. She remembered the broken look in the wounded man's eyes when she healed him, the startled awe in Gareth's face. Maybe I can help. Maybe there's a reason I have this gift.
She raised her head, steeling her resolve. "We'll prepare," she said. "Gareth, you need to recover your strength. Aunt Sorren and I will gather supplies. Then… I'll go to Silverstrand with you."
Despite the severity of the situation, a hint of relief crossed Gareth's features. Sorren, meanwhile, looked both proud and pained. She reached for Rena's hand. "Whatever path you choose, I'll support you."
That evening, as the sun dipped below the dense canopy, Rena moved about the cottage, sorting herbs and packing them into small leather pouches. She prepared feverfew, salves for wounds, and a variety of dried roots that could treat a range of ailments. Gareth's wound still required some tending, but he assured her he felt well enough to travel in a day or two.
Aunt Sorren quietly gathered extra blankets and rations, tucking them into saddlebags. By the flickering lamplight, her eyes shone with both love and worry. Rena tried to ignore the looming sense of farewell that hung in the air. She reminded herself that she wasn't leaving forever—just taking a journey she should have taken years ago.
Yet when the moon rose—a slender crescent in the sky—Rena stepped outside for a breath of cool air, her heart pounding at the thought of actually setting foot in the royal castle. She'd always considered herself a simple herbalist. Could she truly navigate the complexities of court life?
The forest rustled with nocturnal sounds, crickets chirping in a steady lullaby. Memories flooded her mind: Aunt Sorren teaching her how to identify medicinal plants by moonlight, the day she discovered she could heal a wounded fox, the nights she spent dreaming of a world beyond Whisperwood. Now, those dreams seemed more real—and more terrifying—than ever.
Behind her, the cottage door creaked. She turned to see Gareth leaning against the frame, one hand braced on the doorway for support.
"You should be resting," she chided gently.
He offered a crooked grin. "I've been on my back for hours. Besides, the night air helps clear my head." Taking a few careful steps, he joined her near the garden fence. "I wanted to thank you again. Without your healing, I might not have survived."
Rena shrugged, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "It's just what I do."
"And that's precisely why the kingdom needs you," Gareth said quietly, gazing at the moonlit forest. "Your power is extraordinary, but it's your willingness to help others that gives it meaning. Too many people in Silverstrand only see power as a way to control or exploit."
She glanced at him, curiosity stirring. "What made you a messenger for the king? You don't strike me as a typical court official."
He chuckled softly. "I'm not. I was raised in a border town. My father was a scribe for the local magistrate. He taught me to read and write, and eventually, my skills caught the attention of someone at court. The king likes to keep men of humble origins in his service—says it helps him stay grounded." His expression grew more somber. "I believed in him then, and I believe in him now. If there's any chance you can help him, I'll do everything I can to get you to him safely."
A sudden wave of gratitude washed over Rena. She had expected a royal messenger to be aloof or condescending, yet Gareth seemed sincere—driven by loyalty rather than ambition. "Thank you," she said, her voice soft. "I'm… grateful not to face this alone."
They stood in companionable silence for a moment. Then the cottage door opened again, and Aunt Sorren emerged, carrying a small lamp. She approached, the light illuminating the lines of concern on her face.
"Child, it's getting late. We should all rest." She placed a reassuring hand on Rena's shoulder. "We'll have plenty to do in the morning."
Rena offered a faint smile. "Right. Good night, Aunt Sorren." She turned to Gareth. "You, too. Try not to strain that wound."
He gave a half-salute and slipped back inside. Sorren lingered a moment, meeting Rena's gaze. No words passed between them, but in that shared look, Rena sensed both pride and a motherly worry. Then Sorren gently squeezed her hand and followed Gareth into the house.
Alone, Rena glanced once more at the crescent moon overhead. The pendant around her neck felt heavier than usual, as though it carried the weight of every hope in Silverstrand. Maybe it does, she thought wryly. But I have to try.
Steeling herself against the uncertainty that loomed, she took one last look at the quiet silhouettes of the trees—her refuge, her home—and then turned to prepare for the journey that awaited.