Page 65 of Eternal Thorns

The dryad queen studied his face. “You've discovered something.”

“Not discovered. Finally understood.” Power rippled beneath his skin, gold and silver light spiraling together. “We've been fighting this wrong from the start. Trying to contain corruption instead of facing what the entity truly fears.”

Oak Queen's bark-skin form shifted with interest. “And that is?”

“Choice.” Thorne's crown of branches caught moonlight as he began crafting the message for Silas. “The entity can corrupt emotion, twist memory, even poison magic itself. But it can't touch free will. Can't force choices that must be made willingly.”

“The prophecy spoke of choice,” she reminded him. “Though perhaps not quite as you're suggesting.”

“The prophecy can fuck right off.” Thorne's magic flared, making nearby shadows retreat. “This isn't about ancient predictions anymore. It's about deciding what we're willing to risk for the chance at something real.”

Briar materialized in a flash of sprite-light, her freckles pulsing with nervous energy. “You called, Guardian?”

“Take this to Silas.” Thorne pressed a spelled message into her hands, the parchment glowing with magic. “Make sure he understands - this has to be his choice. No prophecy or destiny forcing his hand.”

As Briar vanished with her mission, Thorne turned back to Oak Queen. The dryad's ancient eyes held surprising approval. “You're choosing a dangerous path.”

“No,” he corrected. “I'm choosing to let him choose. Whatever comes next has to be freely given on both sides.”

22

THE PRICE

Silas was bent over the two journals spread across the massive oak desk. His eyes burned from hours of reading, but he couldn't stop now.

“You're going to strain your eyes,” Kai muttered from his guard post by the door. His friend had given up trying to make him sleep hours ago.

“Just one more section,” Silas promised, though they both knew it was a lie.

Marcus's elegant script filled the left journal, while Thorne's precise annotations flowed through the right one. Reading them side by side should have been purely academic. Instead, every mention of partnership or connection now carried dangerous personal weight.

The strength of bonds between human and fey directly affects magical potency, Marcus had written. Trust freely given creates channels for power to flow naturally between realms.

Beside it, Thorne's annotation added:

But forced connection corrupts that flow. Magic must be invited, not commanded. Partnership works only through mutual choice.

“Your magic is doing the glowy thing again,” Kai observed dryly.

Silas looked down to find silver light spiraling between the journals' pages. “Shut up.”

“Just saying. These books are probably older than both our families combined. Maybe try not to set them on fire with your magical pining.”

Page after page detailed how emotional bonds affected forest magic. Previous Ashworths had tried maintaining professional distance, treating partnership as purely magical theory.

Yet here was Marcus, writing about moments when that distance cracked:

Today T. smiled while teaching me a particularly complex harmony, and the entire grove bloomed out of season. Our combined magic grows stronger with each shared success, each moment of genuine understanding. I begin to suspect the old warnings about maintaining emotional distance were less about protection and more about fear.

Thorne's response in the margins was shakier than his usual precise script:

Fear born of bitter experience. Connection creates vulnerability. Trust makes betrayal possible.

His fingers traced Thorne's handwriting, following the places where careful control had wavered.

“Found something interesting?” Kai asked, noting his intense focus.

“Maybe.” Silas sat back, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “The old texts all talk about maintaining distance, treating forest magic as something to be studied rather than felt. But look at this.”

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