First Annual Enchanted Orchard 2024
In the days of blossom and song, when the apple trees of the Enchanted Orchard stood crowned in white and pink, the kingdom awoke to Beltane.
It was a time when the folk, high and low, gathered beneath the sun’s warm gaze to dance the Maypole, feast till the moon was high, and watch champions test their mettle upon the tourney field.
Four noble houses held sway over that realm:
Lothar Godfrey, the Orchard King, stern and unyielding, keeper of Storm Castle and master of the Knights of the Storm.
Mabriel Verdun, the May Queen, whose heart belonged to the wild glades and the sacred Thornwood forest.
Havelock Radcliffe, the Duke of Thorns, warden of roses and sharp justice alike.
Flora Celestine, the Blossom Baroness, gentle in manner, yet possessed of honey-tongued cunning.
That year, a great stir swept the land — for Prince Rowan Verdun, the Prince of Leaves, had returned after five long years wandering far realms.
He had seen mountains crowned in snow, deserts blooming under man-wrought rivers, and strange lands where glass houses bore fruit in winter’s teeth. Yet his heart called him home, to the soft earth of the Orchard and the scent of spring rain.
But Beltane’s joy was not unmarred.
The Orchard King, seeing the kingdom’s growth, sought to fell part of the Thornwood to plant more fruit trees.
The May Queen forbade it, for the forest was hallowed — home to beasts, birds, and flowers whose balance kept the Orchard in harmony.
“Thy plan is folly,” she told him on a bright spring morn. “To cut the Thornwood is to wound the heart of our realm.”
But King Lothar’s mind was not swayed, and soon whispers of alliance and rivalry began to creep through the noble courts.
The Orchard King turned to the Blossom Baroness, who smiled sweetly and gave him her support, even suggesting that Prince Rowan might wed the Blueberry Princess, Gwendolyn Godfrey—both to bind the Houses together and to spite the May Queen, Rowan’s own mother.
Meanwhile, the May Queen sought counsel with the Duke of Thorns, promising him the preservation of the forest, and perhaps, the uniting of their Houses by marriage.
Yet in the midst of such schemes, the young folk’s hearts were stirring.
Prince Rowan met the Blueberry Princess after many years apart. She remembered the boy she had played with in the palace gardens; he beheld a lady grown wise and fair. They spoke with courtesy, and though few words were exchanged, a friendship, fragile as a bud, began to bloom.
But Princess Gwendolyn’s heart was not unclaimed.
For beyond the breakers, a Siren—whose twin roamed Wyndonshire—called to her with a song from summers long ago. Cloaked and veiled, the Princess sought her at the pirate’s cove, where the sea-woman’s voice tangled about her like silk. Old love, once thought drowned by time, rose anew between them.
Wishing to protect her beloved, the Siren led Princess Gwendolyn to the Weird Sisters, witches of the Thornwood, who wrought a talisman with feather and hair, sealing a spell that none could break.
“Nine times nine, protection wind…” they chanted, and so the lovers’ fates became entwined with magic.
When the festival day came, the kingdom swelled with color and sound.
The Jester told a tale of worm, bee, butterfly, and ladybug learning that all were needed for the Orchard’s bloom—a parable lost on some nobles in their feuds.
The tourney saw champions clash: the Champion of the Storm for the King, the Champion of the Tree for the Queen, the Champion of the Thorn for the Duke, and the Champion of the Flower for the Baroness.
Steel rang on steel, the crowd roared, and banners snapped in the wind.
At last came the Beltane Banquet, where nobles raised toasts in verse: flowers unfurling at the Baroness’s call, thorns enduring the Duke’s winter, leaves stretching toward the Prince’s summer, and seeds awakening in the Queen’s moonlight.
Then the King himself stood, proclaiming rebirth and bounty — and making a stunning decree:
“Princess Gwendolyn shall be wed to Prince Rowan in one year’s time.”
The hall roared with huzzahs, yet beneath the cheers, hearts shifted like leaves in a secret wind.
The May Queen’s smile was thin as a blade.
The Siren watched from afar, her vow to steal the Blueberry Princess before the next full moon.
As they danced around the Maypole, the Duke and his Hand met with the Orchard Witches, while Prince Rowan gazed upon Princess Gwendolyn and wondered what truths the next Beltane would bring.
Thus was Beltane of that year remembered—not for its feasts or its jousts alone, but as the spring when love, ambition, and the fate of the Thornwood began their slow and tangled dance.
And though this tale cannot foretell an ending, know ye this:
In the Enchanted Orchard, the seeds of wonder, once sown, grow in ways no mortal may command.
FaeGuild Wonders 