Chapter 73 – A Tale of a Cursed Flower II

The queen smiled through her tears, her gaze fixed on her daughter. She held the child close, her strength fading with every breath. As though the curse itself had been watching and waiting, she passed away, her life extinguished the moment her daughter’s began.

The palace was plunged into mourning. Even the kingdom itself seemed to grieve, the soldiers lowering their weapons in sorrow, the people lighting candles in honour of the queen who had given them so much. And thus, Princess Thyra entered the world, a child born under the curse but surrounded by love.

The night Princess Thyra was born was unlike any other. A profound loss and a night that left an indelible mark on the kingdom. Her first cries pierced the silence of the palace, echoing through its grand halls. But those cries were no ordinary wails of a newborn—they carried with them a strange, flower fragrance.

This fragrance spread like a living entity, seeping into the air, curling around every corner of the palace. It was beautiful and overwhelming at the same time. Servants who tried to approach the newborn were struck immobile, their bodies frozen as though the very air had turned to stone. They stood as silent sentinels, their faces etched with a mixture of fear and helplessness, unable even to utter a word of alarm.

As the cry continued, the fragrance grew heavier, spreading from the chambers where Princess Thyra was held to the entire southern wing of the palace. That part of the castle became unapproachable, shrouded in an invisible yet impenetrable veil fragrance of her cries. News of this phenomenon quickly reached the king and his sons, who were still mourning the loss of their beloved queen.

Prince Zhao, being the eldest, was the first to rush to the chamber where his newborn sister lay. His brothers followed closely, their hearts heavy with grief but compelled by a sense to protect the last gift their mother had left them. As they entered the narrow hallway leading to Princess Thyra’s chamber, they saw that the servants were immobile at varying distances, and the strange fragrance began to take hold of them.

Each step was like walking against a storm, the weight of the air pressing against them. One by one, the younger princes faltered, their bodies freezing mid-step as the overwhelming aroma consumed them. Prince Zhao alone pressed on, his resolve shining through even as his legs trembled and his breath came in ragged gasps. But just as he reached the door of the room, he succumbed to the suffocating power and stood frozen, mere feet away from his crying sister on the other side of the door.

Then came King Azure. In his grief, he had already borne the weight of a shattered heart, but now he faced the impossible task of calming a child whose very existence seemed entwined with a curse beyond understanding. He entered the hallway, his eyes narrowing as he saw his sons and servants frozen like statues, their faces pale and strained.

‘My child,’ he whispered as he took his first step into the hallway, the fragrance immediately assaulting his senses. Each step was a monumental effort, the weight of the air crushing against him, yet he moved forward with unwavering determination. His voice grew stronger, filled with love and resolve. ‘My dear Thyra, I made a promise to your mother that I would love and cherish you with all my heart. Me and your brothers—we will always stand by your side. So now, let me calm you, my precious daughter.’

His words were like a beacon cutting through the storm. With heavy, deliberate steps, King Azure pushed forward, his breath laboured, his body trembling. The closer he got to Princess Thyra’s cradle, the more oppressive the fragrance became, but he pressed on, guided by the strength of his promise.

When he finally reached her, his hands trembled as he gently lifted her from the cradle. Her tiny form shook with sobs, her green eyes glowing faintly with an eerie light. King Azure cradled her close, his deep voice soothing as he began to hum a lullaby. His movements were slow and deliberate, swaying like a dance as he held her in his arms.

As her father’s voice filled the room, Princess Thyra’s cries began to soften, the fragrance receding with each note. Her brothers, servants, and everyone affected by the strange magic were gradually freed from its grip, collapsing to the floor in exhaustion but relief.

The king’s soothing lullaby quieted her completely, and for a brief moment, the room was still. King Azure gazed down at her, his eyes softening despite the sorrow etched deeply into his face. He kissed her forehead and whispered, ‘You are stronger than you know, my daughter.’

Moments later, a general arrived, his voice urgent as he informed the king of pressing matters requiring his attention. With a heavy heart, King Azure handed Princess Thyra to Prince Zhao, trusting him to keep her safe. Though Prince Zhao was still young, his arms held his baby sister with surprising steadiness. As the king left, Prince Zhao gently rocked her, his voice quiet but tender as he whispered, ‘Rest now, little one. You’ll always have me by your side.’

By the time she finally drifted back to sleep, the chamber bore the marks of her cries. The ceiling was lined with flower vines, the walls seemed to pulse faintly with the remnants of her power, and the air still carried the faintest trace of the fragrance.

As Princess Thyra grew, her cursed heritage became impossible to ignore. The palace gardens themselves seemed to bow to her presence. Flowers, no matter their type or season, twisted and leaned toward her as if drawn by an unseen force. Blue roses—the rarest and most mystical of blooms—sprouted in her chambers, their vines unfurling even in the dead of winter, wrapping around her bedposts and creeping along the walls. The nursemaids whispered in hushed tones, their words a mix of awe and unease. ‘She commands nature itself,’ they said.

Though servants whispered among themselves, unsure whether to call her a blessing or a curse.

By the time she reached ten years of age, Princess Thyra’s abilities had grown beyond mere fascination—they had become a force of nature. One fateful night, her dreams spilt over into the waking world. As she slept, vines erupted from beneath the marble floors, splitting the intricate tiles as though they were paper. They coiled around ancient statues and priceless artifacts, transforming the southern wing of the palace into a verdant jungle. Roses—each a deep, unnatural blue—bloomed from the very walls, cascading over centuries-old tapestries and entwining ceremonial weapons.

The next morning, two witches arrived at the king’s behest, fulfilling a promise made long ago by the queen who had passed. These women, clad in dark robes adorned with symbols of their craft, were to guide Princess Thyra in controlling her burgeoning powers. Yet, when they saw the aftermath of her uncontrolled magic, even they were taken aback. Their words to King Azure were grave.

‘Her curse acts as both a guardian and a warden,’ one witch explained, her voice tinged with unease. ‘It amplifies her powers in ways even she cannot predict. This power is not malicious, but it is wild, and it will grow stronger as she grows up.’

The other witch added, ‘We can teach her control to an extent, but the curse is tied to her essence. There will come a day when it cannot be restrained, and when that day comes, it will consume her and others who share her blood.’

King Azure listened intently, his heart heavy with the knowledge that his daughter’s life was intertwined with a power she might never fully command and at the same time, risking his son’s life. Determined to protect all his children, King Azure made a decision.

On a night when the moon hung full and silver, casting a glow over the kingdom, the king retrieved a sword fragment—a relic of his own past, broken yet imbued with a power unmatched. With the help of the witches, King Azure imbued a piece of his core essence into the fragments, embedding it within his children to serve as an anchor for their abilities.

For Princess Thyra, the fragment initially provided balance, allowing her to channel her powers more effectively under the training of the witches, but even this safeguard proved insufficient.

At twelve years old, during a lesson with the witches, Princess Thyra’s magic erupted beyond anyone’s imagination. In the palace training hall, she lost all control. Vines burst violently from the floor, ripping through walls, shattering doors and windows, and tearing gaping holes in the ceiling. They twisted and coiled with unstoppable force, filling the room with living greenery. Flowers of every hue and shape erupted along their lengths, carpeting the hall in a riot of colour. From the tip of one towering vine, a colossal, radiant flower bloomed, its light dazzling and terrifying all at once. As the petals unfurled, as it released a fragrance that poured into every corner of the palace, so potent and overwhelming that every living creature froze in place, paralysed as if time itself had stopped.

Servants froze mid-task—one holding a tray of goblets, another adjusting a candelabrum. Guards stood motionless, their hands holding spears that would not move.

The fragrance spilled out of the palace, seeping into the streets of the city close to the palace. Citizens frozen where they stood, from merchants in bustling markets to children playing in the courtyards. Animals and even insects fell under the spell, the entire scene becoming a surreal still-life.

Only King Azure and Princess Thyra’s brothers remained unaffected, but her brothers were disoriented to some extent and were only protected by the bond of blood. The witches quickly cast protective spells around themselves, their expressions a mix of fear and fascination.

For an entire day, the palace and half the city remained frozen due to Princess Thyra’s power.

Princess Thyra, waking to this chaos, was horrified by what she had done. Her guilt and fear pushed her to focus, to wrest control of the power that had spiralled out of her grasp. With the guidance of the witches, she trained harder and learned to pull back the fragrance, retracting the vines and dispelling the unnatural stillness slowly, but the memory of that day still lingered like a shadow among the servants and the citizens.

People whispered of her power—some called her a miracle, others a danger. But to her family, she was simply Thyra—their sister, their daughter, their princess, struggling under the weight of a legacy she had never asked for. Yet nothing lasts forever. The day her power finally overwhelmed her came when Princess Thyra was fifteen.