The grand hall of the west wing had been transformed into a fragrant sea of color and silk. Crystal chandeliers cast prisms of light over the polished floor, and attendants moved like clockwork between rows of nobles, ushering them forward with bows and whispers.
Alaric sat upon the raised dais, the pale gold of his uniform gleaming faintly beneath the morning sun. His expression was composed — impassive even — though the faint crease between his brows betrayed the growing weight of his thoughts.
The first omega stepped forward, curtsying with practiced grace. The faint fragrance of peach and roses reached him.
No... not this one.
The next bowed low, his scent sweet and sharp, like ripened grapes soaked in summer wine.
Still wrong.
Then another — strawberries,cloying and light, yet the undertone of her pheromones felt hollow.
No... not even close.
He kept greeting them, one by one, the line never seeming to end. Their voices blurred together, their perfume thickened in the air until his senses felt suffocated by it.
Dozens of delicate smiles. Hundreds of curtsies. Yet all he could think of was that one scent — soft yet intoxicating, earthen, touched with the warmth of ripe peaches under rain. The scent that still lingered faintly in his memory and refused to fade no matter how he tried.
No... not this one... no.
He schooled his face into serenity, thanking each noble daughter, dismissing them with the same gentle nod. But inwardly, frustration simmered. It was maddening — that he could recall the scent so vividly, yet not the face, not even the sound of their voice.
He caught Darius watching him from a distance, his expression unreadable, though perhaps faintly concerned. Alaric looked away, jaw tight.
The King, seated beside him, was beaming. "You've done well to come this far, my son. It's good to see you finally taking an interest in these things."
"Yes, Father," Alaric replied evenly. His tone was smooth, polite. Nothing betrayed the restless pulse beneath his skin.
When at last the hall emptied, and the final omega withdrew with a curtsey, Alaric rose to his feet. He felt as though the air itself was too thick, clinging to his senses, heavy with the wrong scents.
Darius approached him quietly. "Your Highness, the King seems pleased. Shall I arrange for the list of the presented omegas?"
"No," Alaric said curtly, shaking his head. "There's no need. None of them are suitable."
Darius hesitated. "Suitable... or not the one you seek?"
Alaric's gaze flicked toward him sharply, but he didn't answer. Instead, he strode past him toward the exit. "Prepare my horse. I need to walk off this stench."
---
Meanwhile, across the palace gardens, the Queen Consort's laughter drifted beneath the sun-dappled canopy. Her garden was a masterpiece — every blossom perfectly placed, the air steeped in jasmine and mint. Yet behind the sweetness, there was calculation in every smile.
Seated at the center of the marble pavilion, she set down her teacup with a soft clink. Around her, the noble ladies murmured about the prince's selection and the King's favoritism.
"How surprising," one said with a coy smile. "To think His Highness, the First Prince, would host such a gathering."
Another chuckled softly. "Perhaps he's realized it's time to take responsibility. After all, his recovery seems almost miraculous, doesn't it? That healer from the capital must have worked wonders."
At the mention of Rin, the Queen Consort's gaze sharpened slightly.
"Indeed," she murmured. "A mere commoner beta achieving what even royal physicians could not. Curious, is it not?"
Her aide stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Your Majesty, if I may... there are whispers that this healer has gained the Prince's trust."
The Queen smiled faintly — a delicate, dangerous curve of her lips. "Trust can be a powerful thing. And power, my dear, must always be observed."
She turned to her chamberlain. "Send word to the healer. Invite him to the next tea gathering. Tell him I wish to extend my personal gratitude for his service to the royal family."
The chamberlain bowed deeply. "As you command, Your Majesty."
As the servant departed, one of the noble ladies spoke softly, "Your Majesty intends to recruit him?"
The Queen's eyes glinted beneath her lashes. "Recruit? Perhaps. Or merely... remind him of his place."
The ladies exchanged knowing smiles as the Queen raised her teacup once more, her gaze distant and thoughtful.
---
By the time word of the summons reached Alaric, he had barely returned from his ride. His gloves were still dusted with dirt when Darius entered the stables, face grave.
"Your Highness," Darius began, "I thought you should know — the Queen Consort has sent for the royal healer. He's been summoned to her tea gathering in the eastern garden."
Alaric froze mid-motion, his gloved hand tightening around the reins.
"The Queen... summoned Rin?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
The air between them stilled. A faint pulse of something darker flickered in Alaric's eyes — not quite anger, but something close.
He pulled off his gloves slowly, jaw tightening. "When?"
"Now. He's likely already on his way there."
Alaric tossed the gloves aside and turned sharply toward the garden path.
"Your Highness," Darius warned, stepping after him, "the Queen's garden is her private territory. You shouldn't—"
"I know," Alaric cut in, his voice low, deliberate. "But I also know what she's capable of."
He started walking, his pace quick and certain.
"Your Highness—"
"I won't let her touch him," Alaric said under his breath, not looking back.
The breeze carried his words away, leaving Darius staring after him as the First Prince disappeared beyond the glass corridors, toward the Queen's garden — where danger and deceit bloomed as beautifully as her flowers..
---