The Forest King and the Butterfly

Chapter Three: The Spiral Dance

I’d always wondered if the Spiral Dance would feel different once I was old enough to join it.

As a child, I imagined the music would weave spells around me, the ribbons would carry me straight into someone’s arms, and I would know—absolutely—that the Choosing had begun.

And now, here I was. Eighteen. Ready. Open. Joren’s hand was warm in mine.

“I picked this one for us,” he said, offering me a ribbon the color of new apricots.

He always noticed little things—the thread color in my shawl, the way I braided my hair when I was nervous. That attention used to startle me. Now, it just made me smile.

I didn’t know if he was the one the forest would offer me.

But he was someone I liked. Someone who listened. Someone who made me laugh when I didn’t mean to. Maybe that was enough.

Let the Choosing decide, I reminded myself. But hope doesn’t hurt.

The Spiral Tree shimmered beneath garlands Roselie and I had hung that morning. Its branches reached like arms, trailing dozens of long, fluttering ribbons—each one a thread waiting to be caught.

We stepped into the outer circle as the music began. Drumbeat, flute, fiddle—the dance came alive beneath our feet, and the crowd began to spin.

We weaved together. Around others. Between turns. Under ribbons and sunlight. Joren’s steps were certain. Confident.

Mine were quieter, but I didn’t pull away.

“You’ve always danced light,” he murmured.

“You’ve always pulled me off rhythm,” I teased.

He laughed—and this time, it reached his eyes.

I saw my family near the edge of the spiral.

Mother stood with Liana near the flower ring, adjusting garlands for the younger children. Father carved something into Alder’s beloved crook while Alder waved to me with both arms like he was summoning a storm.

I stepped from the spiral just briefly and ran to them.

“You dance like your feet remember before your heart does,” Mother said, brushing a curl behind my ear.

“Your ribbon’s not too tight?” Liana asked. “You don’t want it binding the wrong thing.”

“She’ll bind exactly what she’s meant to,” Father added. “She always has.”

Alder shoved the crook toward me. “Use this if he steps on your toes.”

“He hasn’t,” I said, laughing. “Yet.”

I hugged each of them quickly. They didn’t ask if I knew who I hoped for.

Because they already knew.

Back in the ring, the music climbed.

Joren caught my hand again, and we danced tighter now—closer to the heart of the spiral.

“Do you feel it?” he asked, breathless.

“What?”

“This. Us.”

I looked up at him. His gaze was too intense, almost urgent.

I smiled, because I liked him.

But I didn’t answer. I wanted the forest to answer for me.

The final pass wound inward, the ribbon spiraling at my wrist. We were wrapped in color and breath and motion. The crowd began to still.

“Tonight,” Joren whispered. “When the Choosing begins... I’ll find you.”

“Maybe,” I said gently. “If the forest agrees.”

His expression faltered just slightly.

But the music had ended. And around us, the crowd was drawing quiet.

Because in the distance—

The bell tolled.

Not the festival bell.

The Enchanted Bell.

Low. Ancient. Final.

A hush fell across the green.

The Enchanted Door had opened.

And no one—not even me—knew what would follow.


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Lyonesse