# THE LAST GOLDEN BLOOM
*A Baneberry Crown Story*
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## Part One: How It Began
### Chapter One - The Return of Aldenmere
He didn't arrive the way the others had.
The suitors - Lord Caelum, Lord Fenris, Prince Sorel, the parade of polished men with polished smiles - had arrived with entourages. Carriages draped in house colors. Gift wagons. Heralds announcing their names like the names themselves were gifts.
Prince Rowan Aldenmere arrived on a single horse, in riding leathers, with mud on his boots.
Thessaly saw him first.
She was crossing the courtyard - sword at her hip, hair tied back, coming from the training yard where she'd spent the morning running drills with the younger Guard recruits. She stopped. Watched the rider dismount. Took in the details the way Varina had taught her: posture, hands, eyes, the way a person carries themselves when they think no one important is watching.
Tall. Broad-shouldered but lean - a fighter's build, not a courtier's. Dark auburn hair that fell past his ears, pushed back like he'd been riding hard. Green-grey eyes, the color of forest rivers. A jaw that looked like it had opinions and a mouth that looked like it kept most of them to itself.
He handed his reins to the stable hand. Said thank you. Actually *looked* at the stable hand when he said it.
Thessaly's eyebrow went up.
That was new.
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### Chapter Two - The Introduction
The formal reception was that evening. Elode wore emerald silk - Varina's choice, because it matched her eyes and because the Aldenmere delegation expected the Verdant Court to look like what it was: the wealthiest, most magically powerful court in the fae realm.
Thessaly stood at her right. Pink dress. Sword. The usual.
Prince Rowan entered the Great Hall and walked toward the throne with the easy, unhurried stride of someone who was comfortable in large rooms but didn't need them. No herald. His father, Lord Aldenmere, had sent a small retinue - four guards, an advisor, a scribe - but Rowan walked ahead of them. Alone. Not performing solitude. Just not hiding behind ceremony.
He bowed. Proper depth. Proper duration. Not too deep - he wasn't groveling. Not too shallow - he wasn't arrogant. Just *right*, in the way that only someone who understood the rules and chose to follow them, rather than being ruled by them, could manage.
"Your Majesty," he said. His voice was warm. Lower than expected. Steady.
Elode inclined her head. The queen's nod - gracious, measured. "Prince Rowan. Welcome to the Verdant Court. Your father's letter spoke highly of you."
"My father speaks highly of everyone. It's his only flaw."
A ripple through the court. You don't make jokes in the first thirty seconds. Not to the queen. Not in the Great Hall.
But Elode's mouth twitched. Not the court smile. Not the diplomatic smile. The *real* twitch - the one Thessaly knew, the one that meant something had slipped past the mask.
Thessaly's other eyebrow went up.
That was *very* new.
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### Chapter Three - The Dinner
He sat across from her at the state dinner, as protocol required. Thessaly sat at Elode's right. Lord Aldenmere's advisor sat at Rowan's left. The candles burned low. The wine was poured. The performance began.
