Flora needed the white bloom vines by nightfall. Without them, she could not weave the living crown that would name her true heir of Lilyrot's wild court. The crown was her one weapon against the dark king whose armies pressed the land. But this morning the rot reached her woods, and the vines were dying. She found the blight at the tree line past her villa. Black veins crept up the green stems. The white flowers had curled brown. The sweet smell she knew her whole life now turned to rot. She knelt and touched a vine. It crumbled to ash in her hand. The rot was spreading fast. Each minute swallowed more flowers. If it reached the heart of the grove, no living vine would remain, and the crown could never be woven. Flora ran to the healthy vines deeper in. She needed to cut them free before the blight arrived. Her knife worked fast. She pulled long strands loose and coiled them over her arm. But the rot chased her. The black veins climbed the trunks faster than she could cut. Then her great cat came through the ferns. The tiger had been her companion since childhood. His striped coat was tense. He pressed his head to her shoulder and growled low, pulling her toward the stream. She understood. Running water. The rot died where water flowed. Flora dragged the cut vines to the bank and plunged them in. The black veins stopped. The white flowers lifted again, clean and whole. Her cat waded in beside her, and the rot could not cross the current. She gathered every vine she could save and bound them wet against her chest. She had enough for the crown. Just enough. A second cat stepped from the dead trees. This one was black, sleek, its eyes too bright. She knew it at once. It belonged to the dark king himself. It carried something in its mouth and dropped it at her feet. A single white flower, untouched by rot, wrapped in black ribbon. Beneath the ribbon lay a folded note. The writing was neat and careful. "The rot is not mine. My family sent it to break you before you can wear the crown. Meet me, and I will show you how to stop it. — Malachai Thornwood." Flora stared at the king's name. Every story in Lilyrot called him cruel. Every voice told her he wanted the wild court destroyed. Yet the flower at her feet was alive, and the blight was spreading toward her home. She looked at the black cat. It sat calm, waiting for her answer. She had the vines. She had the crown within reach. But she could not weave it fast enough to beat the rot alone. Flora picked up the flower. She would meet him. If the king lied, she lost everything. If he told the truth, he was her only hope.