The blue roses had not withered in twenty-three years.
They bloomed through frost, drought, storms, and several unsuccessful attempts by the royal gardeners to replace them with something less troublesome. Once, a newly appointed gardener had suggested white roses might better suit a memorial.
The following morning, every white flower in the palace had turned blue.
The gardener resigned before breakfast.
Since then, no one interfered with the garden.
It lay behind the western wing of Reinstle Palace, enclosed by walls of pale stone and protected by enough spells to withstand an invading army. Yet no guard stood at its entrance. No servant trimmed the hedges. No courtier wandered its paths in search of privacy, scandal, or both.
Everyone in Reinstle knew the garden belonged to Lord Arthur.
More precisely, it belonged to his dead mother.
On the night of the Blue Moon, Arthur stood alone before her statue.
Moonlight spilled across the garden, gathering upon the marble folds of her gown. The sculptor had captured her with unsettling precision. Her lips held the beginning of a smile, as though she had just heard something amusing and was deciding whether to laugh. One stone hand rested over her heart. The other extended toward the roses at her feet.
Arthur had always disliked that hand.
It seemed to be waiting for his.
He stopped at the edge of the memorial and removed a single flower from inside his coat. Unlike the roses surrounding the statue, this one had been cut that morning. Its petals were a deep midnight blue, almost black where the shadows touched them.
He placed it beside the others.
"Happy birthday," he said.
The words sounded peculiar in the empty garden. Birthdays belonged to the living. They required cakes, wine, badly chosen presents, and relatives who claimed not to care about age while discussing nothing else.
His mother had avoided all four for more than two decades.
Arthur looked up at her marble face.
"You continue to be very difficult to shop for."
The statue maintained its smile.
Arthur waited, as though she might finally answer him out of irritation.
When she did not, he brushed a fallen petal from the base of the monument. The movement was careful, nearly tender. As soon as he noticed his own hand lingering against the stone, he withdrew it.
The night was colder than it should have been.
Beyond the walls, Reinstle celebrated.
Music drifted faintly from the city below the palace. Bells rang from the temples, followed by cheers and the sharp crack of fireworks. The Blue Moon had not yet risen, but the people were already drinking as if they had personally summoned it.
From the western tower, Arthur could see most of his capital. Lanterns floated above the streets like captive stars. Children ran through the squares wearing paper crowns painted silver and blue. Vendors sold moon-shaped pastries at criminal prices. According to one report, an enterprising merchant had bottled ordinary pond water and was selling it as "Lunar Tears."
Arthur had ordered the city guard not to arrest him.
Anyone foolish enough to purchase tears from the moon deserved whatever happened next.
A branch rustled behind him.
Arthur did not turn.
"If you are attempting stealth," he said, "you should know the bush is losing."
The rustling stopped.
A pair of golden eyes appeared between the leaves.
Then came a grey head, two flattened ears, and the deeply offended expression of a creature whose brilliant ambush had been ruined by narrow-minded criticism.
Cheshire forced his way through the hedge. He emerged with a twig caught in his fur and three blue petals resting on his head like an undignified crown.
He was the size of a well-fed house cat, provided the house cat had eaten another house cat shortly before being measured. His coat was thick and silver-grey, his tail absurdly long, and his roundness deceptive. Beneath his soft appearance lived a celestial beast capable of outrunning horses, shattering stone, and emptying a royal kitchen without alerting a single cook.
The last talent was the one he practiced most diligently.
"I was not attempting stealth," Cheshire said. "I was making an entrance."
"You entered through a shrub."
"A deliberate creative choice."
"You have leaves in your whiskers."
"Decoration."
Arthur reached down and removed the twig from his head.
Cheshire glanced at the flower beside the statue.
"You brought her another rose."
"I can see that nothing escapes your legendary powers of observation."
"It is the same gift every year."
"She has not complained."
"She is made of stone."
"You have complained, and yet I continue to keep you."
Cheshire considered this.
"That is because I provide emotional stability."
"You provide fur on all my furniture."
"A small price for emotional stability."
Arthur walked toward the nearest stone bench. Cheshire followed, his tail raised with the confidence of a military standard.
The bench faced the memorial. Arthur sat at one end.
Cheshire leapt onto the other and immediately occupied most of it.
Arthur looked down at him.
"You have your own cushion in my chambers."
"That cushion lacks atmosphere."
"It is made from cloud silk."
"I require emotional atmosphere."
"You slept in a laundry basket yesterday."
"The basket understood me."
Arthur turned his attention toward the city.
Another firework climbed above the walls. It burst into the shape of a crescent moon, shivered in the sky, and transformed accidentally into something resembling a bent spoon.
The people cheered anyway.
Cheshire settled beside him.
"Vladis sent me."
"Of course he did."
"He says you are expected in the great hall."
"I am not."
"He says you specifically promised to attend the celebration."
"I specifically said, 'I will consider it.'"
"In ordinary language, that means perhaps."
"In my language, it means no."
"Your language is unpopular."
"That is one of its better qualities."
Cheshire followed Arthur's gaze toward the city. His expression softened, though his voice remained light.
"There is food."
"There is always food."
"Free food."
"I own the palace."
"Food tastes better when someone else believes they are paying for it."
Arthur leaned back against the bench.
The celebration inside the palace had been planned for months. Foreign dignitaries had arrived carrying gifts, proposals, secret demands, and daughters whose fathers considered marriage an extension of diplomacy. The council expected Arthur to appear beneath the ceremonial lanterns, receive their praise, and endure speeches about prosperity.
There would be hundreds of people in the hall.
Hundreds of smiles.
Hundreds of ambitions hidden beneath silk and jewels.
Not one of them would speak to him without wanting something.
The statue wanted nothing.
The roses asked for nothing.
The silence had no expectations.
"I think I shall remain here," Arthur said.
Cheshire examined him.
"You have remained here every Blue Moon since I met you."
"You did not meet me. You tried to eat me."
"I was young."
"You were eighty-seven."
"You looked edible."
"I was six."
"You were very small."
Arthur looked at him.
Cheshire cleared his throat.
"I have matured."
"You stole seven river trout this morning."
"Six."
"The cook counted seven."
"The cook lacks imagination."
For the briefest moment, Arthur smiled.
Cheshire noticed, but wisely pretended he had not.
That was why Arthur allowed him to stay.
Others treated Arthur's rare smiles like miracles. Servants whispered. Courtiers reconsidered their lives. Enemies revised their wills. Cheshire merely accepted the moment and ruined it before it could become important.
Attachment only created suffering.
Arthur had learned that lesson young and learned it thoroughly.
It was easier to tolerate a creature who could make affection look like an argument.
The music from the city shifted into a livelier tune. Arthur watched a line of lanterns rise into the sky, each carrying a written wish. Wealth. Health. Marriage. Children. Victory. Forgiveness.
Mortals placed great faith in the sky.
Perhaps because the sky never answered.
"What would you wish for?" Cheshire asked.
Arthur glanced at him.
"If the Moon offered you one blessing," the cat continued, "what would you request?"
"Peace."
"That is unexpectedly noble."
"Peace from this conversation."
Cheshire's tail struck the bench.
"I am trying to understand your soul."
"You will have better luck with the laundry basket."
"I understand the basket already. It wants socks."
Arthur looked once more at his mother.
"What would you wish for?" he asked.
Cheshire answered immediately.
"An immortal fish."
"A fish that lives forever?"
"A fish that replaces whatever portion is eaten."
"That is horrifying."
"That is efficient."
"You were born with the soul of a tyrant."
"And the face of an angel."
"The face of a criminal caught inside a pantry."
Cheshire opened his mouth to defend himself, but the fountain stopped.
Not slowed.
Stopped.
Water hung above the marble basin in suspended arcs, each droplet frozen in the air.
The bells in the city fell silent.
Music vanished.
The leaves ceased trembling.
Across the garden, thousands of blue roses turned at once toward the eastern horizon.
Arthur rose.
Cheshire's humor disappeared. He lowered himself upon the bench, ears alert, golden eyes fixed on the sky.
A line of blue light appeared above the distant mountains.
It spread slowly, staining the horizon from within. Stars dimmed as the radiance climbed higher. The darkness did not retreat. Instead, it deepened around the growing light, as though making room for something older.
Then the moon rose.
It was enormous.
Not silver, nor white, nor any natural shade Arthur had seen in the sky. Blue fire moved beneath its surface, forming vast rivers of light. A pale ring surrounded it, inscribed with symbols visible even from the palace.
Across Reinstle, every magical flame went out.
The city became dark.
People who had been cheering moments earlier fell silent.
The Blue Moon had appeared many times in recorded history. Scholars had described its color, measured its position, and written long, joyless books concerning its influence upon crops and magical tides.
None of those books had captured its presence.
It did not seem to hang in the sky.
It seemed to observe the world beneath it.
The silver bracelet beneath Arthur's sleeve grew warm.
His hand moved toward it before he could stop himself.
The bracelet had belonged to his mother.
He remembered very little of the night she gave it to him. Her room had smelled of blue roses and bitter medicine. Her fingers had trembled as she fastened the clasp around his wrist. She had said something important, something he had spent years trying to recall.
All he remembered clearly was her smile.
And the fact that she had known she was going to die.
A thread of blue light slipped from the moon and touched the garden.
The protective barriers surrounding the palace shuddered.
One collapsed.
Then another.
Arthur felt each spell surrender as the light passed through it. Wards capable of burning armies opened as quietly as doors before an honored guest.
The light touched the fountain.
Frozen water fell upward.
Droplets rose in a spiraling column, turning into points of silver fire. They circled faster, gathering around an unseen center. Wings formed first, translucent and veined with moonlight. Then bare feet, a flowing gown, golden hair, and finally the unimpressed face of a young woman.
Rosy opened her eyes.
She hovered above the fountain, looked at Arthur, and frowned.
"You are not dressed."
Arthur glanced down at his black coat.
"I am wearing clothes."
"For the Midnight Blessing."
"You did not provide a dress code."
"There are traditions."
"There are always traditions. Most were invented by people who wanted an excuse to wear jewelry."
Rosy lowered herself onto the fountain's edge. She was small enough to sit comfortably beside one of the carved stone birds. Her pale blue gown trailed into the water without becoming wet, and a narrow silver crown rested among her curls.
Cheshire stared at her.
She stared back.
Neither spoke.
Arthur could almost hear the mutual dislike establishing itself.
"So," Cheshire said at last, "you are the Ninth Princess of the Lunar Court."
Rosy lifted her chin.
"I am."
"You are shorter than the paintings."
"You are fatter than the legends."
Cheshire gasped.
Arthur turned away and covered his mouth with one hand.
"Master," Cheshire said, wounded, "are you laughing at me?"
"No."
"You are."
"I am coughing."
"You have never coughed in your life."
Rosy smiled sweetly.
"Perhaps the legends exaggerated your speed because they had difficulty watching you roll."
Cheshire's fur rose along his spine.
"I demand satisfaction."
"You may begin with a vegetable."
"Master, hold me back."
Arthur glanced at the cat, who had made no attempt to move.
"I am struggling."
Cheshire gave him a betrayed look.
Rosy stepped down from the fountain. With each barefoot step, a circle of light spread beneath her. Her expression sobered as she approached Arthur.
"You know why I am here."
"The Moon enjoys criticizing my clothes?"
"The Moon has watched you."
"That is unsettling."
"For longer than you understand."
The humor left the garden.
Rosy's gaze shifted toward the memorial. Something like recognition crossed her face, followed by sadness she concealed too late.
Arthur noticed.
"What do you know about my mother?"
"Enough not to speak carelessly."
"That is not an answer."
"It is the only one I am permitted to give."
The bracelet tightened around Arthur's wrist.
Not enough to hurt.
Enough to remind him it was there.
Rosy extended her hand.
"The Blue Moon offers its blessing only to those standing at the edge of a choice. It does not grant wishes. It does not obey desire. It reveals a road hidden from Destiny."
Arthur studied her.
Nothing in the world was hidden from Destiny.
Every life produced a thread. Every choice branched into consequence. With concentration, Arthur could follow those roads farther than any wizard before him. It was the gift that made kingdoms fear him and councils obey him.
It was also the reason nothing surprised him anymore.
"What is the price?" he asked.
Rosy's hand remained extended.
"You will surrender your sight of your own future until the blessing is fulfilled."
Cheshire stood abruptly.
"No."
Arthur did not look at him.
"Master, absolutely not. We know nothing about this blessing, this court, or this extremely small woman."
"I heard that."
"It was intended to be heard."
Rosy ignored him. "Once accepted, you will no longer see the road immediately before you. You may perceive the futures of others, but your own path will darken."
"How long?"
"Until you find what the Moon chooses to show you."
"And if I refuse?"
"Your life continues exactly as Destiny has written it."
Arthur looked toward the city.
He knew that future.
Years of councils. Wars. Victories. Funerals. People entering his life, growing old, and leaving it. A kingdom flourishing beneath his rule while he remained exactly as he was.
Untouched.
Unchanged.
Safe.
There was comfort in certainty.
There was also a particular cruelty in knowing that tomorrow held nothing he had not already seen.
Cheshire moved closer.
"You do not need this," he said quietly.
Arthur looked down at him.
The cat's usual arrogance was gone.
Arthur understood at once.
Cheshire was not afraid of the Moon.
He was afraid Arthur would leave him behind.
The knowledge lodged somewhere uncomfortable beneath Arthur's ribs.
He looked away before it became tenderness.
"Perhaps," Arthur said, "that is precisely why I should accept."
Rosy's eyes sharpened.
"State what you seek."
Arthur approached the memorial. The statue smiled down at him with endless patience. He thought of a trembling hand fastening silver around his wrist. Of a room becoming silent. Of every person he had ever allowed near enough to matter.
Attachment only created suffering.
He had built an entire life around that truth.
Yet standing beneath the Blue Moon, he recognized the flaw in his perfect safety.
A life untouched by loss could also become a life untouched by anything else.
"I want," Arthur said slowly, "something I have not already survived."
The garden answered.
Every blue rose opened.
Their petals released a flood of luminous dust that climbed into the sky. Rosy seized Arthur's wrist. The bracelet blazed white, its metal melting into lines of light that wound around his arm.
Pain struck without warning.
Arthur fell to one knee.
The world split open.
He saw roads.
Millions upon millions of them.
Wars beginning in unspoken insults. Children becoming kings. Lovers meeting too late. Cities burning. Empires drowning beneath black seas. Every future unfolded around him in a storm of color and sound.
Then the threads snapped.
One after another.
His sight collapsed into darkness.
For the first time since childhood, Arthur could not see what came next.
The absence terrified him.
Before fear could settle, laughter reached him through the dark.
A young woman's laughter.
Bright, breathless, and utterly unguarded.
Warmth touched his face.
The darkness became sunlight.
He stood in a field of blue roses beneath a sky without a moon. A girl ran ahead of him, her white dress brushing the flowers. He could not see her face. Whenever she turned, sunlight gathered around her features and erased them.
She called to someone.
Perhaps to him.
Arthur followed.
The field changed.
The girl stood in a forest, smaller now, no more than a child. A monstrous shadow moved behind her. Its jaws opened.
She was supposed to die.
Arthur did not know how he knew.
The certainty entered him like a memory.
The beast lunged.
A boy stepped between them.
Arthur recognized his younger self only when the spell burst from the boy's hands.
The future cracked.
Not changed.
Cracked.
A sound like breaking glass tore through the vision.
The girl survived.
Every blue rose in the field turned black.
Arthur reached for the child, but the scene vanished.
Now the young woman stood before him again. Blood stained her white dress. Her hand stretched toward his.
Beyond her waited something enormous.
Not a body.
Not a face.
A presence woven through every star and every shadow between them. It had no eyes, yet Arthur felt its attention descend upon him.
The girl's fingers brushed his.
A thousand futures died.
The darkness recoiled.
Arthur caught her hand and pulled, but she dissolved into blue petals.
One petal remained against his palm.
Upon it, written in silver, was a single name.
Ciel.
Arthur woke on the garden floor.
His hand was closed around nothing.
Rosy knelt nearby, pale and shaken. Cheshire pressed against Arthur's side, growling at the Moon as though prepared to climb into the sky and fight it personally.
Arthur pushed himself upright.
The silver bracelet had vanished.
In its place, a thin blue line circled his wrist.
He reached instinctively for his future sight.
Nothing answered.
He could see Rosy's immediate possibilities. Cheshire's. The distant city's. Thousands of threads remained within his reach.
But when he searched for his own future, he found only a field of roses, a faceless woman, and darkness.
Arthur tried again.
The same result.
On the third attempt, the darkness looked back.
He severed the spell.
"Master?" Cheshire asked.
Arthur's pulse thundered beneath the blue mark.
He should have been furious.
He should have demanded that Rosy restore what had been taken.
Instead, he remembered the girl's hand in his.
The word upon the petal.
The impossible crack running through the future.
For the first time in years, Arthur did not know what tomorrow held.
For the first time since his mother's death, something inside him wanted to find out.
His laugh was quiet.
Unfamiliar.
Almost young.
"Ciel," he said.
Far above the palace, the Blue Moon darkened.
And beyond the reach of gods, witches, and mortal sight, something ancient became aware that a dead girl was still alive.