The king was a large man, as muscled as any Green huntsman. His dark beard dipped into his steaming berry soup with every bite, and Edward winced. The King of the Pines was praised by the inner-woods cities but hated by the villagers beyond. Though, in the king’s defense, the man hadn’t a clue how the villages felt about things.

Across the table, Edward’s sister laughed at the gory stories—ones of hunting and slaying large animals, of tracking the snowsquatches, and of the iron-clashing war on their kingdom’s brink that never slept. Ever Green was not shy or unsure like Edward; she kept her chin high and her eyes bright, her laugh loud and her skin thick.

“To the King of the Pines! May his victory in the Silver Jubilee Renewal tomorrow change the course of the war!” The general’s wooden armour clapped at his elbows. Edward tasted bile in his throat as fifty soldiers plus five raised their glasses of fermented cider and cheered for the king, who bellowed a laugh and raised his own glass to himself too. Cups were smashed down the table, bits of glass or clay spilling away into the grassy forest carpet. All were certain their king would still be alive after tomorrow.

But Edward twisted in his seat, his eyes flickering past the gingerbread sculptures dotted with mint twists, and he found his sister across the table, cheering along with the men. What would it do to Ever if the king did not live through the Renewal? What would it do to all of them?

Edward excused himself; rising with the grace of a young prince, but his feet were cold, his heart heavy, and his mind pulling in a multitude of directions. He fastened his cloak and slipped away from the banquet, unnoticed by the Evergreen Host soldiers at the table.

He moved quietly through the curtains of silver-bell studded garland and from there, the prince chased the wind through the trees.

The Silver Jubilee Renewal would arrive at noon whether Edward was ready for it or not. Two kings would fight until only one lived, and Edward would either be forced to become one of the youngest kings in the history of the Pines, or he would be able to stay a prince for a measure longer.

Sweat clung to his neck when he arrived at his destination, where patches of ice floated on the ever-rippling waters of the Fountain of Wishes. He pulled down the hood of his cloak and watched the clear waters swirl in the bowl. The statue of the white bird in the centre was chipped in so many places, it hardly resembled an animal anymore.

The quiet forest hummed as Edward reached for the ring on his forefinger and slid it off with care. He eyed the silver piece, inlaid with a band of wood. And he tossed it to the water.