Shelter from the Storm, Secrets in the Soil

Bloom turned off the heat after carefully removing her apple pie from the oven, its golden crust a monument to her ability. Her charming small cottage was filled with the scent of apples and cinnamon, which was deep and soothing.

Outside, the rain was falling in relentless sheets on a Tuesday afternoon. Late on Sunday night, the storm came roaring to life and hasn't let up since. Bloom couldn't blame Julian for not stopping over to inform her how his tea with the noble ladies had gone. Even she, who enjoys the soft melody of rain, was hesitant to endure this torrent. This storm had a spooky edge, something strange that made her feel a silent terror.

She reflected on her garden, hoping its hardy flowers had withstood the storm.

As Julian arrived, a piercing knock on the back door shook her out of her thoughts. Nobody else bothered to come to her remote house, thus he was the only one who utilized that entry. To invite him in, she walked across the room.

As he entered the living room, his coat and hair wet with rainfall, he sniffed the air and exclaimed, "What smells so good?"

She threw him a towel and reprimanded him, saying, "Hang that up." "My floor is getting wet from you."

After running the towel through his hair and wiping up the puddles he had created, Julian hung his soaked coat on a peg. Bloom softened her tone and replied, "It's apple pie."

"Is there any chance I could get some?" His voice was full of optimism as he inquired.

With a playful sparkle in her eye, she answered, "Perhaps." "If you tell me about some high-ranking women."

He smiled. At least two of them were awful, cunning, and gorgeous people. I couldn't say much about Bryony, Marquessa of Amethyst; she was reserved and her father was near death. Elena of Cresta appeared to be a respectable person. However, Clarissa Bartlett was pure wickedness, and Countess Jocelyn of Emberton was nasty. Without omitting any details, he began to describe the tea in great detail.

Astonished by the painting he had done of Clarissa Bartlett, Bloom listened. "She must be evil if she's Drake Clearbrook's cousin," she whispered, her lips barely apart and her voice tense. She gave Julian the biggest wedge of the pie after slicing it. He buried his teeth in and smiled greedily as he accepted it.

"This is excellent," he said, his excitement stifled by his full mouth. A hurried swallow was spurred by Bloom's stare. With another generous bite, he corrected, "Ah... yes, she's pretty evil."

"How often do you require breakfast?" Her cynicism was as keen as a sword when she questioned.

He smiled once more. "I know of no one who prepares apple pie for breakfast but you. In addition, it's the greatest.

With a dry tone, she fired out, "Oh, I feel so much better now, thank you, Your Highness." She wandered up to the window and looked out at the storm roaring outside.

Julian stepped up behind her, pie still in his hand, and remarked quickly, "There's something wrong with that storm." "After two days without a break, I gave up even though I didn't want to walk through it. The Royal Lionesses have also remained here.

Bloom stared at the turbulent sky. "I guess it would. For the same reason, I have remained indoors. Although my plants are resilient, I will have to erect some shelter for them if this storm continues.

He shoved another mouthful into his mouth and asked, "What have you done in the past?"

She whispered, "Pig." "Never has it come up."

"Will you please stop calling me names?" He objected, yet there was a tinge of humor in his voice. "Why do you do that every time?"

"Because they're usually right, Your Highness," she remarked with a cunning grin. Do you want another piece?

His first had already been completed. He smiled and ran to the kitchen, while Bloom walked more slowly, burdened by the years she had not yet experienced.

She cut him another piece and took one for herself, complaining, "You behave like a little boy."

With much enjoyment, he responded, "Is that such a problem?" "It might as well be me because someone has to."

She sighed and waved a hand at him, saying, "Oh, just leave me alone." "I feel elderly." He hopped over to the living room and sat down on her couch. As she joined him with her own plate, she threatened to kill him in her sleep if he dropped any crumbs.

Julian once again looked out the window. "What do you think led to all of that?"

Bloom gave a shrug. It could be anything. Perhaps one of your aristocratic families had a talent for weather and mishandled it.

His eyes glowed with curiosity as he said, "Can you mess up?" "I believed that witches had unlimited power."

She gave another shrug. Indeed, that is feasible. They are amiable because I treat them with kindness, but if I lose control of a plant, it may go crazy and ruin anything. However, weather would be much more difficult, particularly for a beginner. Do you know of any families who have that gift?

He became reflective. It jogs a recollection, but not that I remember. A noble family has a gift for gardening similar to yours.

"So?" she rolled her eyes and asked.

"About twenty years ago, one of their children went missing as well."

With sarcasm permeating every syllable, she drawled, "Woo, impressive." And you believe it to be me? When you were young, who dropped you on your head? No questions asked, I'm not a noble person. Quit bothering me.

He started to say, "But—" but she interrupted him.

But nothing. I won't hear it again.

He was silenced by her furious look and went back to eating his pie while thinking quietly.

"He's probably right," she thought, her placid exterior belying a boiling rage. My name sounds honorable. My gift is connected to a noble family. There is an aristocratic family with a missing child from around twenty years ago, and I was discovered at Grandmama's sixteen years ago. What is the maximum number of coincidences?

However, they threw me away if it's true. I don't want anything to do with them because they threw me out. In addition, they are aristocrats.

Before Julian's voice broke through her reverie, she raged in silence for a short while.

"Don't you believe me?" He whispered.

"Stop being so perceptive," she yelled. "It irritates me."

"What are you aware of?"

"Mr. Nosy, your nose is getting really twitchy," she cautioned. "I don't know anything."

As she snapped, he muttered, "Liar," with a hint of enjoyment in his voice.

Although the falsehood hung heavy in her lips, she responded, "I am not."

He saw right through her shields with his unwavering gaze. She softly called forth her blue-bellied bartanas with frustration. Creepers quickly wrapped themselves around Julian, entangling him in a lattice of robust, exquisite vines, after slipping through the window's little gap, which was left open to let the heat from the kitchen out.

He yelled, "Hey!" "For what purpose is that?"

She covered his lips with a vine and shrugged. You are obnoxious, inquisitive, tenacious, and excessively perceptive. I find it annoying. Okay, so here is what I know: Last week, my grandmother informed me that I am not actually her granddaughter. How stereotypical—some woman handed me over on a rainy night. Liliana Elaina Hurlstone is my genuine name, and it's most likely a noble one, isn't it?

He was mute and unable to reply, but his eyes supported her suspicion. She let out a deep sigh. "Excellent." She let go of the vines after giving it some thought.

"That hurt," Julian muttered as he touched his mouth.

She sneered, "Oh, boo-hoo, you big baby." "Cry a river, construct a bridge, and move on." You must be a knight or something.

He sighed and said, "Yes, but that doesn't mean I like pain." Not that I'm a masochist.

"Anyway, Highness."

"Hey, you're no longer allowed to call me that!" With a tone of victory, he spoke.

She scowled. "I'll refer to you as Sir Arrogantpants. And being a—a—noble does not make me happy. More than any profanity she could utter, the word lodged in her throat. Therefore, it would be your last action to tell anyone. Whatever transpired after my birth, Grandmama is still my grandma and I am still Bloom.

"You're not interested in finding out who they are?" He tilted his head in question.

She gave a snort. "All right. I was given up shortly after my birth by a woman who was allegedly my birth mother, and I'm expected to care who she is?

Julian remarked quietly, "I heard she was devastated."

Bloom opened his mouth to respond sharply, but it closed abruptly. Her eyes briefly pricked with tears before being violently blinked away. "They're honorable," she stated sternly. "I don't want to interact with them."

Julian let out a sigh. He looked around the room and reminded her that he was a noble. "I'm currently in a noble's home. Do you believe that they differ greatly from you?

"You admitted that the women at the tea were awful."

He retorted, "Elena of Cresta wasn't." The Marquessa of Amethyst was pleasant, Bryony—quiet, yes, but her father, your uncle, is ill. To put it gently, her family is strange, and the Hurlstones are reportedly much stranger. He had obviously given this some thought.

She yelled, "That's enough, Julian." "I'd best not hear anyone else bring it up because I don't want to hear more. I am common, not noble. The narrative is over.

Instead of pushing harder, he changed direction. He waved his fork at the storm and said, "Do you think a noble caused this?"

Bloom nodded, his annoyance building. “Do you think it will end?”

Or else someone's head will be on a silver platter, she snarled.

He flinched. "All right, you're not honorable. If you stop being so... hateful, I'll let it go.

She gave a wry smile. "Have I been a bitch?" He lifted an eyebrow in agreement with her. You can't let me get away with anything, can you? You keep ruining my life, and I'm just a helpless commoner. Are you aware of how frustrating that is?

Dry as dust, he answered, "Very much." "I've experienced it once or twice."

"Well done."

As he polished off his pie, he frowned. "I must leave."

"Maybe," she responded, "because, as you say, I'm so spiteful."

"That's not what I meant," he argued.

"You did," she emphasized. "As long as you depart before I turn those apples you ate sour, I don't care." I have no desire to tidy up the mess.

He seemed to take her seriously, even though she would never hurt him. He slipped out the door and into the storm, waving wryly.