The scent of lavender and rosemary hung heavy in the air as Elara meticulously sorted herbs in the potting shed. Mrs. Higgins, a cheerful presence in her wellington boots and perpetually dirt-stained apron, hummed a tuneless melody while deadheading roses. Elara found the routine soothing, a welcome respite from the suffocating glamour and veiled threats of Hollywood. Since the premiere, a nagging unease had settled within her, a discordant note disrupting the melody of her own magic.

The memory of Beatrice Moreau’s predatory smile and honeyed words still sent shivers down her spine. The woman had been a viper coiled in silk, her every gesture laced with malice and a barely suppressed hunger for power. And Caspian… Caspian had been unnervingly quiet since, his already remote demeanor amplified by a layer of impenetrable worry. He’d forbidden her from seeing Beatrice again, a command delivered with a chilling intensity that spoke volumes. He kept calling her Petal, and she thought it was because he was overprotective.

“Lovely day, isn’t it, dear?” Mrs. Higgins chirped, snapping Elara from her reverie.

“It is,” Elara agreed, forcing a smile. “The foxglove are particularly vibrant this year.”

“Ah, yes,” Mrs. Higgins chuckled, her eyes twinkling. “Foxglove. Beautiful, but deadly, just like some people I know.” She paused, snipping a thorny stem with a decisive click. “Speaking of deadly, that Beatrice Moreau is a piece of work, isn’t she? Best to steer clear of her. She’s a hungry one, always sniffing around for power.”

“Caspian said the same thing,” Elara replied cautiously. “They have a…history, it seems.”

Mrs. Higgins’ expression softened, a hint of something akin to pity flickering in her eyes. “They do indeed. A long and complicated one. Mr. Thorne carries a heavy burden, you know. He has for centuries.”

Centuries. The word echoed in Elara’s mind. She knew Caspian was old, unnaturally so, but the casual mention of centuries felt like a confirmation of something deeply unsettling. The hidden library, the ancient texts, the artifacts of forgotten spirits – it all pointed to a truth far stranger and more profound than she had initially imagined.

“You seem to know a lot about him, Mrs. Higgins,” Elara said, her voice carefully neutral.

The gardener chuckled again, a knowing sound that sent a prickle of unease down Elara’s spine. “Let’s just say I’ve been tending this garden, and Mr. Thorne, for a very long time. I’ve seen a lot of comings and goings in this house, a lot of joys and sorrows. And I care deeply for him, you see.”

“I see,” Elara murmured, but she didn’t see at all. The pieces were shifting, the puzzle reconfiguring itself into a shape she didn’t recognize.

Later that afternoon, Elara found herself drawn to the hidden library once more. The musty scent of ancient parchment and forgotten magic filled her lungs as she ran her fingers along the spines of the leather-bound tomes. She was searching for something, anything, that could shed light on Caspian’s past, on the nature of his power, on the reason for their arranged marriage.

She pulled down a particularly thick volume, its cover embossed with a silver symbol of a thorn. As she opened it, a faded photograph slipped from between the pages, landing silently on the floor.

Elara picked it up, her breath catching in her throat. It was a picture of a young Caspian, perhaps in his late twenties, standing beside a woman with fiery red hair and a mischievous glint in her eyes. The woman was holding a trowel and beaming at the camera, her arm linked possessively through Caspian’s. And standing just behind them, her face etched with youthful enthusiasm, was Mrs. Higgins.

Elara’s mind raced. Mrs. Higgins, young and vibrant, standing alongside Caspian in what looked like a different century? It was impossible. Unless…

A cold wave of realization crashed over her. Mrs. Higgins wasn’t just a quirky gardener. She was something else entirely, something connected to Caspian’s long and mysterious life. But what? And why had she never mentioned it?

Determined to confront her, Elara hurried back to the gardens, her heart pounding in her chest. She found Mrs. Higgins tending to a bed of night-blooming cereus, her movements surprisingly spry for a woman her age – or whatever age she truly was.

“Mrs. Higgins,” Elara said, her voice trembling slightly. “I found a photograph in the library. A photograph of you and Caspian… a long time ago.”

Mrs. Higgins straightened up, her face unreadable. She slowly wiped her hands on her apron, her eyes fixed on Elara’s. “Ah,” she said softly. “So you’ve discovered a little piece of the puzzle, have you?”

“Who are you, really?” Elara demanded, her initial fear giving way to a simmering anger. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Mrs. Higgins sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of centuries. “It’s a long story, child. And not one I was meant to tell.”

“But I have a right to know,” Elara insisted. “I’m married to Caspian. I’m living in his house. I’m surrounded by secrets, and I deserve to understand them.”

Mrs. Higgins studied Elara for a long moment, her gaze piercing and knowing. “Very well,” she said finally. “I am what you might call a protector. I have been with the Thorne family for centuries, safeguarding their secrets and helping them to fulfill their destiny. Caspian is… special. He carries a burden that few can comprehend.”

“And what about the photograph?” Elara pressed. “The woman with him?”

Mrs. Higgins’ expression softened, a hint of sadness flickering in her eyes. “That was… a long time ago. Her name was Eleanor. She was Caspian’s… his heart.”

Elara felt a pang of something akin to jealousy, a ridiculous emotion given the circumstances. But the idea of Caspian having a love, a true love, before her, was strangely unsettling.

“And what happened to her?” Elara asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Mrs. Higgins’ gaze drifted towards the horizon, her eyes filled with a distant sorrow. “She’s gone. Lost to the shadows. And Caspian has never truly recovered.”

“But why didn’t you tell me any of this?” Elara repeated, her voice rising with frustration. “Why keep me in the dark?”

Mrs. Higgins turned back to Elara, her expression grave. “Because, my dear, you are now part of that burden. You are bound to Caspian by the Spirit Concordance, a bond stronger than blood. But it is a bond born of necessity, not of choice. And opening your heart to him… would only make things harder.”

“Harder for whom?” Elara challenged.

“Harder for him,” Mrs. Higgins replied, her voice firm. “Caspian has already lost too much. He cannot afford to lose you too. Keep your heart guarded, child. It is the only way to protect yourself… and him.”

Elara stared at Mrs. Higgins, her mind reeling. Betrayal stung her. She thought she had found an ally, a confidante, in the eccentric gardener. But instead, she had stumbled upon another layer of deception, another secret designed to keep her at arm’s length from the truth, from Caspian himself.

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t care for him?” Elara asked, her voice trembling.

“I am saying that love is a dangerous weapon, child,” Mrs. Higgins replied, her voice filled with a weary wisdom. “Especially for someone like Caspian. He has built walls around his heart for a reason. Do not tear them down.”

Elara felt a surge of defiance rising within her. Who was Mrs. Higgins to tell her how to feel? Who was Caspian to expect her to remain emotionally detached, a mere pawn in his centuries-old game?

“I will decide for myself how I feel,” Elara said, her voice ringing with newfound determination. “I will decide for myself what is best for me… and for Caspian.”

She turned and walked away, leaving Mrs. Higgins standing alone amidst the fragrant roses and the deadly foxglove. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the garden, and a chill wind was blowing in from the sea. Elara felt a deep sense of unease settling within her, a premonition of danger and betrayal that was far more potent than anything she had felt before.

She realised that she wasn’t just navigating the treacherous waters of Hollywood, but a far more ancient and dangerous current, a current that threatened to sweep her away and drown her in secrets and lies. And she was no longer sure who she could trust. The only thing she knew for certain was that she had to uncover the truth, no matter the cost. Even if it meant risking her own heart in the process.