The courtyard was still when dawn broke, the world painted in a faint hue of ash-blue. Dew clung to the marble fountain where Prince Caelum had fallen asleep, the half-empty wine glass slipping from his hand to rest soundlessly on the stone edge.
Darius sighed quietly. The second prince's head rested against his shoulder, soft red hair falling over his brow. In sleep, Caelum's face was unguarded—without the cold poise he wore before the court, without the heavy shadow of his mother's expectations.
He looked... young. Fragile, even.
"Your Highness," Darius murmured, voice low so as not to startle him. "You'll catch a chill if you stay here."
There was no response. Only the steady rise and fall of Caelum's chest.
So with careful strength, Darius slipped one arm under the prince's knees and another around his back, lifting him easily. The faint scent of Caelum's wine-stained breath lingered in the air—bittersweet and faintly floral, like wilted violets.
As Darius carried him through the empty hallway toward his chambers, the sound of approaching footsteps made him stop.
"Sir Darius."
The voice was clipped, cold. It belonged to Lord Eiran, Caelum's personal aide—a man known for his strict loyalty and sharper tongue.
"I'll take it from here." His tone left no room for discussion.
Darius hesitated, glancing down at the prince still fast asleep in his arms. "He fell asleep near the fountain. I was just—"
"I said," Eiran interrupted, stepping closer, eyes hard, "I'll take it from here."
Darius shifted his hold reluctantly, lowering Caelum gently into Ansel's waiting arms. For a fleeting second, their gazes met—Darius's calm and steady, Eiran's sharp with something that almost looked like jealousy.
"I suggest," Eiran said quietly, once the prince was safe in his hold, "you remember your place. The Second Prince doesn't need your concern, Sir Knight. Or your pity."
Darius's jaw tightened. "…Understood."
Eiran turned and strode away, the prince cradled close. Darius remained for a moment longer, watching their retreating figures disappear into the corridor light. He wanted to argue—to say it wasn't pity, it was something else entirely—but the words stayed locked behind his teeth.
---
Meanwhile.
The faint scent of smoke and night flowers lingered in Alaric's chamber. Curtains fluttered, catching the thin light of morning. The air was heavy—still bearing traces of what had happened hours ago.
Rin's eyes snapped open.
For a long moment, he didn't move. His body ached, his head felt foggy, but his instincts screamed louder than pain. The scent. The room. Him.
Alaric was asleep, his arm draped across the edge of the bed, black hair disheveled, breathing steady at last. The dangerous wildness of last night was gone—what remained was the prince, peaceful and unaware.
Rin sat up carefully, pressing a trembling hand to his lips. What did I do… what did we…
He forced his thoughts still. Panic wouldn't help. Not now.
He scanned the room, methodically erasing every trace—shifting the sheets, collecting the scattered herbs and vials, wiping faint smudges from the desk. When he finally found the broken vial of Aether Veil resin and heat-dampening cordial on the floor, his chest tightened. That explained it. The herbs had failed halfway through the night.
"I should've known better," he whispered to himself bitterly. "This… this is why Aunt warned me."
He packed his things in silence, every motion practiced and steady though his hands trembled. His eyes lingered once on the sleeping prince—just long enough to see the faint furrow in his brow ease as if the torment that plagued him had finally quieted.
He looked… peaceful. Almost human.
Rin turned away before that thought could take root.
By the time the first rays of sunlight fully reached the palace roofs, the chamber was empty—no trace of the herbalist remained, save for the faint scent of crushed peach and clove fading into the morning air.
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