The princess wore a blue dress, but no elf believed she was royal. She stood beneath a cherry tree whose petals shifted from pink to gold to blue. She had come here to win an army and take back the elven throne her family lost. Instead, the elves who gathered under the branches only stared and whispered. A throne stolen from her bloodline meant nothing without proof she carried that blood. "Show us a mark," one elder called. "Any thief can wear a crown's color." The princess had no seal, no crest, no witness. She had only her word, and words did not raise soldiers. The crowd began to drift away. Her chance was leaving with them. Then a warrior pushed through the crowd. Micheal was no elf. He towered over them, a broad Viking with a red beard, a mohawk, and an axe on his back. Tattoos wound down his arms. He had guarded the princess since she fled the palace as a child, the one person who never doubted her. "You want proof?" Micheal shouted. "Ask the tree." The elves went quiet. The princess did not understand. Micheal grabbed her hand and pressed her palm flat against the bark. "The old kings planted this," he said low. "It only blooms full for royal blood. Try." She pressed harder. Nothing happened. The petals hung still. Her face burned. Somewhere behind her, an elf laughed. Then a woman in silver armor stepped forward. Braids of blonde hair fell past her waist, threaded with white vines. The elves bowed their heads as she passed. They called her Spirit bear, keeper of the royal grove. She had served the old queen. She had watched the throne fall. Spirit bear studied the princess a long moment. "Blood alone will not wake it," she said. "The tree needs a name. The true name of the last queen, spoken by her heir." The princess's mouth went dry. She had been a small child when her mother died. She reached for the name and found only fog. Micheal watched her, waiting. She closed her eyes. She remembered a lullaby, a voice, a hand in her hair. A name floated up from the dark. She spoke it aloud, soft and unsure. The tree answered. Every branch burst into bloom at once. Petals flared bright blue, then gold, then rose, raining down over the crowd. Light ran through the bark under her palm. The elves gasped and dropped to their knees. Spirit bear knelt too. "The blood is true," she said. "The grove has spoken." The princess had her proof. But as the elves bowed, Spirit bear leaned close, her voice for the princess alone. "The usurper felt this bloom the moment it happened," she whispered. "He will know exactly where you are by morning."